The Convention
by Kyriebess
Summary: Dean's 20, Sam's 16. Tensions run strong in the family, but when one of their lives is at stake, the Winchesters put aside their disagreements to defeat evil. For Raven524 who won me in a charity auction. Hurt!Sam, protective!Dean, protective!John
1. Trespassing

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters belongs to the CW. I own nothing and am just ing the characters. All other characters and the plot are mine.

_So this little story (which will be longer than I originally intended) is for Raven524 who won me in a charity auction. She requested that I write something that included younger Sam and Dean, John, hurt!Sam, protective!Dean, and an explanation as to why John shielded the boys from the rest of the hunting world. So here's my humble attempt at making her happy. I hope you all enjoy. _

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**The ****Convention: Chapter 1- Trespassing**

"Dad, come on, I can help with this one."

Sam looked up from his book to watch his father continue to flip through his research. Dean's begging had been going on for about five minutes and at this point he was just being ignored. Sam shook his head and returned to his book. He gave it one more minute before his father finally snapped.

"I don't get it! That last hunt went perfect! You said so yourself! We left without even a scratch!"

Their father didn't even look up and Sam hid his smirk. Normally the situation would be reversed, with their father _insisting_ that they accompany him on the hunt and _Sam_ begging to get out of it. But now John Winchester was going hunting with three other hunters and Dean, despite his obvious yearning to be included, was being left behind.

Dean stomped his foot and paced away from where his father was seated at the table before spinning back around. "Don't you see what a huge opportunity this is for me.?"

At that John looked up, somewhat amused, and raised eyebrows, silently asking Dean to enlighten him. Obviously, he _didn't_ see whatever the huge opportunity was.

"Dad, I'd get to learn from all four of you. This is huge!"

Appearing less pleased, their father cut him off before he could continue. "I make sure you learn everything you need to know."

"I know, dad, but I'm twenty. Hunting these things with you guys…it'd be like I've graduated, like I'm one of the guys."

Their father shook his head and turned back around. "You haven't graduated. I'll let you know when that day happens."

Dean stepped back, clearly crushed. Sam made a face of pity. As much as Sam hated it, Dean loved hunting and he was constantly trying to prove himself to their dad…another bone of contention with Sam. Regardless though, Sam knew that their father's last comment had to hurt.

Obviously picking up on the sudden silence, John sighed and turned around again. "Look, Dean, you're a great hunter, but I don't want you in this one." He gestured over to Sam, "…just like I don't want Sammy in it either."

At that, Sam threw in his own comment. "_Sam _doesn't want to be in it." He probably should've stayed out of it, but he couldn't help it. Two glares turned his way and Sam gave a quick smile and returned to his book.

"Are these things that much more dangerous than the rawhead we took out a few weeks back?"

Their father shook his head. "I'm done with this conversation and when the others get here, you stay out of our way." With that, John picked up all his papers from the table and made his way to the separate bedroom.

Sam lowered his book, feeling Dean's eyes upon him. "What?"

Dean shook his head and threw up his hands. "I don't get it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So you don't get to hunt a gwyllion. What's the big deal, Dean? She's a crotchety old lady who likes to jump out and scare people for the fun of it. If you ask me, if she's not killing anybody, she shouldn't be hunted anyway."

Dean gave a growl of frustration and spun around. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

Sam took a breath and put his book on the coffee table. "All right, so what is it?"

Dean turned back to his brother. "Dad and I, and you, have been on at least thirty hunts in the past year alone and for the most part, we've done a pretty damn good job."

A few hunts popped into Sam's mind where they had done less than a stellar job, however, he chose to keep his mouth shut on that point in order to allow Dean to explain his argument…whatever that was. "Okay…"

Dean continued, "Okay, so, why now? Why, now that Pastor Jim and Bobby and Caleb are coming to work with dad are we suddenly shut out of the whole thing?"

Sam thought for a moment, but having come to no obvious conclusion, shrugged. "Uh…I don't know. Maybe they just want to do it the four of them, like a reunion thing."

Dean shook his head. "Bobby and Pastor Jim don't even know each other-"

"Well then maybe it's a blind date for the two of them. I don't know, Dean. And I really don't see what the big deal is. Dad's got three friends…period, and even then he's not always on the best of terms with them. So he wants to do a hunt with just him and his friends? What's the problem?"

Dean crossed his arms and glared at the floor, obviously seething. A sudden thought struck Sam. "Is that what this is?"

Dean looked up, suspicious. "What?"

Pointing at his brother, Sam spoke. "You're jealous that dad's going hunting with somebody other than you."

Dean shook his head, but Sam could see in his brother's eyes that he was right. Feeling more confident, Sam smiled and rose from his chair, advancing on his brother. "You're jealous. You're always dad's right hand man and this is like he's cheating on you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "That's ridiculous."

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing. "I can't believe you're jealous."

"I am not!" Dean stomped his foot and Sam couldn't hold it in and longer. He doubled over laughing.

"Shut up! That's not what the issue is!"

Caught up in his own hysterics, Sam ignored his brother- until he was pushed back down into the chair. Finally, he attempted to compose himself. He looked up at his red faced brother with a barely controlled smile.

Dean pointed down at him. "I am not jealous. I don't care who dad goes hunting with. I just don't understand why I can't go too. I'm twenty years old, I've been hunting for five years now…what? Does he think I'm going to royally screw up? Like now that other hunters are going to be there he doesn't want me hunting with them? Am I that freakin' pathetic that he's ashamed to hunt with me if other hunters are around?"

Sam's smile faded as he listened to his brother's hurt. "I'm sure that's not it, Dean. Like I said, he probably just wanted some time alone. Hell, it's not like he hasn't gone off on his own before-"

"Yeah, but that was different, that was on his own. This-"

"You _really_ think all those times he went off solo he was really alone? Come on, man. This is dad. He never tells us anything. Hell, we barely even know Caleb despite the fact that he and dad have been on at least a dozen hunts together…and we only know _that_ because dad got hurt."

Dean just stared at his brother as he absorbed the truth in that statement. Finally, he looked down in resignation. "I still don't see why I couldn't come. I'm older now. He should trust me more."

Sam picked up his book again and returned to his reading. "It's dad, Dean. He's never going to trust us with anything. Just get used to it."

Dean gave an aggravated sigh and called out loud enough for their father to hear. "I'm going out."

A voice called out from the bedroom. "Leave the car."

With an annoyed grimace, Dean pulled the car keys out of his jacket and threw them on the table. Three seconds later, he was out the door.

Debating only for a moment, Sam threw his book back onto the table and with a shout to his dad, followed his brother. "Dean, wait up."

Dean paused briefly, his lingering anger reflected in his hunched, tight shoulders.

Sam jogged to catch up to his brother. "I was thinking."

Dean raised his head to look at his sibling, but said nothing.

"We should do something. You know, since we're both free and all. Like the old days."

Dean's brows raised in amusement. "The old days? Dude, we do stuff all the time. What old days are you talking about?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Like when we were younger, before dad made us start hunting with him. Like when it used to be just you and me."

Dean's expression grew skeptical. "So…what? You wanna sit in a hotel room and watch cartoons while I cook you dinner? Um, let me think about this…yeah, no thanks."

Sam felt his shoulders drop a bit. Was that all Dean thought of their time together? Had Dean really been so miserable? "We used to do other stuff, Dean. You'd take me to the movies or we'd go out to the diner. We could do that…"

Dean shook his head. "Yeah. I'm not really in the mood, Sammy. Besides, it's just you and me enough around here. It'd be nice to be there when the others show up."

Ignoring the fact that his brother didn't want to spend time with him, Sam questioned the rest of Dean's statement. "But dad told you to stay out of the way once everyone got here."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, the way I figure it, if I keep my mouth shut and park myself in the corner, dad'll let me sit in on at least the planning."

"I don't know, dude. Dad seemed pretty adamant."

Anger clouded Dean's features. "What the hell do you know, Sammy? You don't even like hunting."

Sam threw out his hands. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? I still know dad. I just wanted to hang out with you. Excuse me for not having a hunt for you to go on. Guess I'm just too boring for you. You'd rather sit around watching four middle aged men discuss 150 ways to kill an old lady- men who don't even want you there, by the way- than go see a movie with your brother who actually _wants_ to spend time with you."

Dean huffed in annoyance as he pointed at his brother. "Don't be so goddamn dramatic. I'm with you all the time, Sammy. So sue me for wanting to actually listen in on how other hunters do things. You know, this is our future. It'd be nice for you to take a little interest in it."

At that, Sam stepped back, his eyes narrowing. "Hunting is _not_ my future. You wanna take up the family business, fine, but I've got plans for my life and they don't include a weapons arsenal in my trunk."

Dean shook his head, his jaw jutting out in anger. "Now who doesn't know dad. You think dad's just gonna let you walk out and go lead your white picket fence life while mom's killer is still around?"

Sam's eyes met his brother's. "What makes you think I plan on asking?"

Dean threw his arm up and turned around. "You know what? I'm done with this. Go do what you want, Sam. Have a nice life; I'll see you around."

Guilt began to well up in Sam as he watched his brother turn away. Of course he had no intention of just walking out on his family, but then, he had no intention of becoming a hunter either. There was no reason he couldn't get a legitimate job and still help his family track down his mom's killer…Hell, he could provide the money for them. He could earn the money, at a real job, and his dad and Dean could take whatever they needed for the hunt. It would all work out when the time came. He was sure of it. Still, he didn't want Dean walking away thinking that Sam intended to walk out on everybody; he didn't.

"Dean!" Sam called out to his brother, who just kept walking. "I didn't mean that I'd just walk out. You know I wouldn't."

Dean called back to him, still walking. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam looked up at the sky and huffed a growl in frustration. Dean was really pissed now. Sam moved to go back to their rented house. Once Dean was in one of his moods, he could stay like that for days. So much for using this free week to spend time with his brother…

Walking back in the house, Sam spied his soccer ball over in the corner of the living room. He called out to his dad. "I'm going to practice my soccer drills."

An answer resounded from the door of the bedroom. "Get it all in now, Sammy. Come next week, you're not gonna have much free time."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the door, just how he wanted to spend the remainder of his summer…hunting. With a sigh, Sam tossed his ball up in the air. "At least I'll have a week of summer practice before I go back to school."

As he walked out the door, Sam wondered where his next school would be and if they had juniors on their varsity soccer team.

--

"Hey! Hey you!"

Pausing in his thirty minute long dribble, Sam looked up at the teenagers advancing on him. Clad in their own soccer gear, the six teenagers left the meadow where they were playing and crossed the road toward Sam.

"Hey, you play?" One of the out-of-breath boys asked.

Sam nodded. "A little."

The boys smiled, still breathing hard. "It's like destiny!"

Sam backed up at that and one of the other teens laughed. "We play here every Saturday but one of our guys didn't show up so were stuck."

Another boy chimed in. "Six doesn't make a team. We need a fill in. You willing?"

A smile lit up Sam's face. Impromptu soccer match? "I'm in."

The boys grinned back, conspiracy covering their faces. They had only seen Sam dribbling the ball, but it was enough for them to know that their opponents were now in serious trouble.

--

Forty minutes into the game, Sam was covered in sweat and dirt and wishing he was wearing shorts. Still, his team was winning 8-5 and with three assists and three goals, he had certainly made his way "in" with the other boys.

One more assist and the scorer turned to opposing goalie jumping up and down in excitement. "Yeah! Yeah! Did you see that?! Yeah! In your face, Chris!"

Sam merely laughed as the goalie gave the screaming scorer the finger. Another of his teammates clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Damn, man. That was awesome. Please tell me you've move here."

Still grinning, Sam shook his head. "Nah. I'm just visiting here for the week with my family."

All of the boys game Sam a strange look at that and one of them spoke up. "Who the hell comes to Heath, Massachusetts for a vacation?"

Before Sam could answer, another boy, from the other team, answered for him. "There's some kind of thing going on. All the motels are booked this week and all these scary hard-asses are walking around."

One of Sam's teammates agreed. "They're all packing too."

A moan of disbelief was heard from both teams and the teen defended himself. "No, I'm telling you. Me and my brother saw them all this morning. They were all in the diner and we were counting all the guns they had on them. Not only that, but they all had knives strapped to their legs too."

Another round of "oh please" and "yeah right" indicated that the majority remained unconvinced. The goalie from Sam's team removed his mask, revealing a grin. "Maybe they're old Bristol's family come in for a reunion."

At that both teams laughed and Sam grew confused. "Who's old Bristol?"

One of the midfielders answered. "Old man Bristol, I think his name is Neil. In any case, he owns like half the land around here, like the land with nothing built on it. He bought up all the forests and stuff."

"Owns this meadow too."

The midfielder nodded and continued. "Yeah, but he's this mean old guy. He's got an entire barn full of guns and ammo and all this other shit."

The goalie from the other team called out. "People say he worships Satan and if he catches you on his land, like a day later you'll be found dead."

All the boys nodded in agreement. "We wouldn't even be risking it by playing here 'cept that he owns _all_ the undeveloped land and there's nowhere else to play…and the street's not wide enough."

With a loud clap, the leader of the opposing team motioned the game to continue. "The longer we sit here talking, the more time he has to catch us, so what do you say we get going here?"

The goalie from Sam's team placed his mask back on. "Anxious to continue your ass-whooping, Mark?"

Mark flipped off the goalie with a scowl. "Screw you. You guys are only winning because of your new import. If Sam wasn't here we would've ground your faces in the dirt. 'Sides, game's not over yet."

The other forward winked at Sam. "You'll have to excuse him; he gets like that when he knows he's having his ass handed to him."

"Just play the damn game!"

Sam laughed at the verbal sparring as he rejoined the game. Ten minutes later, the score was 9-7 thanks to Mark's quick movements. Sensing a need to regroup, Sam's team called a time-out.

The boys were just getting into a huddle when they heard a shout.

"Shit! Run!"

A whooshing sound blew by them and Sam watched a metal arrow land half way into the ground.

"Get the hell off my land!"

One of the defensemen looked up and pointed. "Old man Bristol! Run!"

One by one, each of the boys took off, racing from the meadow to the road. With all of his physical training, Sam had no problem keeping up and passing most of the other boys. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Mark fall flat on his face.

Turning sharply to his right, Sam ran over and helped the other boy up. Covered in dirt and sweat and panting hard, the teen swallowed and nodded. "Thanks."

Sam nodded back and pushed Mark forward, following closely behind his new friend. Suddenly, another whoosh sounded and a sharp pain blasted threw Sam's calf. A second later, he was flat on his face, in the dirt.

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___This particular chapter was a bit slow as it's mostly setting up the story, but I promise, the next few chapters will be nothing but excitement! Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far!_


	2. The Curse

_Thank __ you all so much for all your supportive reviews. I really, really appreciate them. You made me so happy!_

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**The Convention: Chapter 2- The Curse**

"I got you, boy."

Sam grimaced, reaching for his injured calf as a scruffy-looking man in his fifties lifted him up by his collar.

"You little shits think you can run all over my fields? You got no idea what kind of herbs I'm tryin' to grow out here. You got no consideration. Well I promise you boy, you're gonna be in for a rough night and every second of it you'll spend wishin' you never set foot on my land."

Shaking his head, Sam tried to apologize. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was your land. I'm not from here-"

The man shook him, cutting off his explanation. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Sam looked up, taking a hard look into the weathered face, the dirty beard, the gapped teeth, and the piercing blue eyes. "I'm telling the truth."

Bristol grinned and then snarled. "You're dead, boy. You're gonna die tonight."

Before Sam could respond, the man dropped him on the ground and grabbed his injured leg. Immediately, Sam tried to kick the man with his other foot, but before he could, Bristol had pulled out a gun and aimed it at Sam's head. "Don't."

Sam swallowed and remained still. Bristol pointed at the steel arrow in his leg. "Arrow went clean through. You're lucky, less pain for you."

Sam glared at the man, not understanding how the arrow going through his leg made it less painful. He hoped that one of the boys who got away had called the police…and that the police could get here before Neil Bristol killed him.

Bristol held out a tool resembling hedge clippers and Sam looked back confused. The man brought the gun forward. "Take them."

Sam did as he was told and it suddenly dawned on him what the old man expected him to do. Without waiting for the directions, Sam leaned over and used the tool to clip the arrow head off of the shaft. Somehow, he managed to do so without jostling the arrow in his leg too much. That was what the man had meant when he said it would be less painful. If the arrow head was in his leg, it would have been much more painful to get the arrow out.

"Very good, boy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd done that before."

Sam ignored the comment, choosing to stare Bristol down before moving back to the arrow. "You have anything I can use to tie on my leg?"

A slight smirk appeared on the man's face. "Looks to me like you ain't naked."

With a pained exhale, Sam used the clippers to assist in cutting off the bottom of his pants. He needed to free the arrow and the wound from the material anyway, and it could also be used as a bandage. As Sam ripped the material into long strips, he noticed Bristol surveying him suspiciously.

All of his father's training had taught him well. When he thought about it, he wasn't even all that frightened…more just pissed. He was prepared for this and knew exactly how to treat an arrow wound. It pissed Sam off even more that his father's training and all the hunting was actually coming in handy. It was annoying that his father would now be proven right; that scary shit lurks around every corner and you need to be prepared to deal with it because if you're not it'll get the drop on you. His father had trained them not only so that they could catch mom's killer, but so that they could survive. Sam knew that, dad had said that, but now? Now his father was right and that was _really_ aggravating. And in the same instance, Sam found himself grateful for the training, and his dad, because if he didn't survive this, well, neither would old man Bristol. Winchesters took death of a family member _very_ seriously.

Taking a deep breath, Sam gripped the uncut end of the shaft and pulled with one quick motion. He bit his lip as a scream threatened to tear from his throat. The pain shot through his body and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, forgetting to breathe. A moment later, the pain subsided, leaving a throbbing ache in his calf.

Opening his eyes, and ignoring the tears that had wet the lashes, Sam pressed some of the cleaner strips of material against the wound. Then, holding it with as much pressure as he could manage,

He began to tie another strip around his leg to keep the material in place. Once the makeshift bandage was in position, Sam returned his gaze to his captor.

The man was eying him with a great deal of wariness. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Sam met his stare. "Boyscouts."

Bristol nodded, but a new guardedness was revealed on his face. "Get up."

Never breaking the eye contact, Sam stood. Seeing that he had an advantage in the man's distrust, Sam tried to, once again, explain his way out of the situation. "I didn't mean to trample your herbs. I'm really not from around here; I didn't know-"

"Shut the hell up!"

Startled by the volume, Sam fell silent.

Bristol shook his gun at him. "You knew. And one day, after enough of you little shits has died, the rest of you will finally get that it ain't worth it. After enough of you, they'll finally learn to stay the hell off my property."

John Winchester's voice echoed through Sam's head, "If you can reason with someone, that's great, Sammy, but some people only understand a fist aiming for their head. For some people, the only language they understand is violence." Maybe Neil Bristol was one of those people.

"You shoot me and my dad will track you down and shoot you."

Bristol smiled. "I ain't gonna shoot you, boy. In fact, I ain't gonna have anything to do with your death. It ain't on my head."

At that Sam grew confused…and it obviously showed.

The man's sneer grew bigger. "There are things, things you don't know about, things that only live in your worst nightmares. You know all those stories about monsters in your closet? There are real reasons you should be afraid of the dark, boy."

The speech was meant to be intimidating, but the irony of it was hilarious. Dean would've been hysterical; Sam at least managed to retain some self-control by only _barely_ smiling.

Of course, not knowing Sam's history, the old man mistook the smile's meaning. "That's good; you think I'm just some crazy old man, huh? Smile while you can, you won't be in a few hours." And with that, the man broke into a chant of Latin.

Immediately, the smile left Sam's face. Latin was never good. Unfortunately, with Bristol holding a gun on him, there was little he could do. Any move and he'd be shot dead. Quickly remembering an anti-possession incantation, Sam began reciting it under his breath. He didn't know what Bristol's intentions were, but so long as Sam was reciting his own Latin, he wouldn't be possessed.

Then, as suddenly as the Latin began, it stopped. A cold wind blew, the sky darkened and old man Bristol squirted a bottle of blood at his captive. Sam grimaced as the blood hit his arm. Swiftly, he tried to wipe it off.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the wind stopped and the clouds once again drew back. For the first time, Sam felt some real fear. Something had just happened and whatever it was, it hadn't been good. "What did you do to me?"

Bristol grinned. "You ever heard of pukwudgies?"

Sam shook his head. "Why? Am I gonna turn into one?"

The man laughed heartily. "No, no, boy. You're just gonna be a magnet for 'em."

Sam grimaced; that couldn't be good. "What are they?"

Bristol slipped his pistol into the back of his pants. "You'll find out."

The man went to walk away, but stopped when Sam spoke again. "You're a hunter."

Clearly surprised at Sam's deduction, the old man looked the teen over suspiciously. "You say you're in town just this week?"

Sam thought for a moment. Based on the man's reaction, Sam was pretty sure he was right; Bristol _was_ a hunter. Caleb, Pastor Jim, and Bobby were in town, one of his teammates had seen a whole bunch of 'hard-asses' with guns walking around… Sam wasn't sure what was going on, but chances were that if this man was a hunter, he would know John Winchester.

That could go either way. If they were friends…but then John Winchester didn't have many friends, most people he met, he pissed off, and even if Neil Bristol _was_ a friend, Sam wasn't stupid. The man had shot John's son with an arrow. If there was a friendship, chances are it'd be over and chances are Neil Bristol would know that.

"I asked you a question, boy."

Coming to the conclusion that it'd be safer to leave his heritage a secret, Sam answered the man. "And what if I am? What? Are you nervous 'cause your pukwudgies don't leave the area?"

The distraction worked and Sam watched his captor's confidence return. "Don't worry, they'll find you."

And once again, the man turned and walked away.

Sam bit his lip in thought as he watched Bristol leave. So now he was cursed- by a hunter- and pukwudgies, whatever the hell _they_ were, were going to come after him. Taking a deep breath, Sam shook his head. His life was so weird- and he had been doing something _normal_! It seemed he couldn't even play soccer now-a-days without it turning into a hunt.

First thing was first though, he had to get back to his dad. John Winchester wasn't always the best father, but there was no doubt in Sam's mind his dad could handle _this_. Coming to his school play, showing up at a soccer match, encouraging him to do homework, answering questions about life- not John Winchester's strong points. Saving someone from something supernatural? His father didn't have a stronger point.

Realizing that he couldn't stay where he was, Sam began to limp forward. Considering that an arrow had gone _through_ his leg, it really didn't hurt that bad. Still, walking was extremely difficult. Slowly, Sam made his way off the meadow and toward the road.

As he reached the road, he debated with himself. It had taken him thirty minutes, running, to get to the meadow from the motel. In his current condition, it would take at least ninety minutes to get back.

There was a forest on the other side of the road, across from the meadow. From what Sam could tell, it was the same forest that faced the motel. If he could head northeast through the forest, he'd be taking the hypotenuse of the triangle and cutting his time in half. The only problem with that was he had no idea what a pukwudgie looked like or where they lived. They could be forest creatures. And if one attacked him in the forest, it would be all the more difficult for his family to find him.

Making up his mind to take the road, Sam began crossing the street. It would be easier to walk along the other side of the road as there was a path there, and no path where he currently stood.

About half-way across the road, he froze. A short, grey-skinned, troll-like man was standing directly in front of him on the other side of the road. It didn't say anything; it was just staring at Sam with its overweight belly hanging over its waist. It was about two feet tall, wore no clothes, and came equipped with a large chin, large nose, yellow eyes, and pointed ears.

Sam stared at the thing with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation. His guess was that this thing was a pukwudgie, after all, they would now be drawn to him and it would be _really _random for some other unknown creature to be standing in front of him like that. Still, looking at the little man, Sam couldn't conceive how this thing was to bring about his death.

Hearing a car coming, Sam went to return to the meadow's side of the road while he pondered what to do. With a start, however, he realized he couldn't move…anything, not his legs, not his arms, not his fingers, not even his mouth. His heart was still beating, he was still breathing and his eyes were free to look around, but that was it. He was completely stiff.

The car came speeding down at him and Sam's heart-rate sped as he prepared for his death. The creature still stared at him, holding him there with its expressionless face and he found himself wondering if the creature had control over the car as well.

The car was almost upon him and Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to watch it hit. Suddenly, there was a loud squeal of breaks and the smell of burnt rubber filled his nostrils. He felt the wind as the car flew by him. When he opened his eyes, Sam realized that he was still alive and the red sports car had stopped. A set of smoking tire marks illustrated just how close the car had come to hitting him. Unfortunately though, he was still unable to move.

Over to his left, the driver, a well-dressed man in his late twenties, stepped out of the car and slammed the door. "What the hell is your problem, asshole? You got a death wish or are you just some f-ed up thrill seeker? 'Cause if you're lookin' for a thrill, I'll give you a freakin' thrill!"

Silently, Sam stood still, his roaming eyes the only evidence that he wasn't a statue.

The man walked up beside him. "Hey! I'm talking to you, jackass! You trying to kill yourself?"

With a swallow, Sam looked at the driver's eyes, moved his eyes over to the pukwudgie, and then back to the driver. The man followed his gaze and before Sam could blink, the driver had screamed, "Pukwudgie," pulled out a gun, and shot at the short creature.

Before the bullet could hit, the pukwudgie disappeared.

The air surrounding Sam seemed to change and he realized that he could once again move freely. His shoulders sagged in relief. To his left, the sports car's owner was looking around wildly while holding his gun out in front of him. Given the fact that the man was armed and knew what the creature was, it was safe to assume that this guy was also a hunter.

Why the hell were there so many hunters around? Sam wasn't even aware that there were that many hunters period.

Finally, the man stopped circling and turned to Sam. "You're up shit creek now, kid. Once a pukwudgie's decided he's interested in you, he'll never leave- and I can't find him to kill him for you."

Sam got straight down to business. "How do you kill them?"

The hunter shrugged. "Same way you kill anything else." Then the man smiled. "'Course, it's almost impossible to do that since they can disappear and reappear instantly and have the power to control the movements of others…nasty little buggers."

Sam grimaced. "Great…"

The driver gave Sam a look of pity. "Sorry. Good luck."

With an incredulous expression, Sam watched as the driver returned to his car. "Wait a minute! You're just leaving me here?"

The hunter turned back, his indifferent attitude reflected in his body language. "I can't find it. Sorry, kid. Sucks to be you."

Sam held his palms out in confusion. Sucks to be you? Seriously? "Hey! Can you at least give me a ride to my motel? My leg's hurt."

The man turned back once again and shook his head. "No. You should just be grateful I didn't hit you, lesser drivers would've."

Who the hell was this guy? And more importantly, if he was a hunter, why wouldn't he help? That was a hunter's job, to save people who were in trouble…supernaturally speaking. "Aren't you a hunter?"

The driver was halfway in his seat, but stepped back out of the car at Sam's accusation. Slowly, with suspicion, the man turned back to Sam for the third time. "What do you know about hunters?"

Sam limped forward. "I know that they hunt supernatural things and that they help save people's lives…"

The hunter laughed mockingly. "Hunt supernatural things? Yeah, I do that. Save some lives?" The man shrugged. "Maybe…if I kill something I guess it can't go after anybody else, so indirectly I save people's lives. But would I go out of my way to protect somebody? Hell, no. I don't know what you've heard about hunters, kid, but we ain't that chivalrous. If you could pay, you might be able to hire one," The hunter smiled before continuing, "But I can pretty much guarantee that they'll double cross you. Hunters aren't exactly the trustworthy type."

In an automatic defense of his family, Sam scowled at the man. "Maybe _you're _not that trustworthy, but that doesn't mean _most_ hunters aren't."

The hunter laughed. "Actually, kid? I'm a hell of a lot _more_ trustworthy than most hunters. _Most_ hunters would've just ran your ass over, gone back to see what the hell that bump in the road was, cared way more about the condition of their car than you, seen the pukwudgie, killed the pukwudgie, and been on their way without a second thought about your decaying corpse lying on the side of the road."

Despite his disagreement, Sam opted to leave the issue, knowing that he would get nowhere trying to convince the man in front of him that he was wrong. Instead, Sam chose to get back to the issue at hand. "Look, I really need a ride; it's only three miles down the road."

The driver shook his head and move to get back in his car. "No way in hell. You got a pukwudgie after you. Last thing I need is for it to take over my car and crash it to kill you. Sorry kid."

The door slammed shut and the engine turned. Sam glared at the less-than-helpful sports car as the driver waved goodbye, shouting, "Good luck living through the night…and watch out for the darts."

"Darts? Even better…"

Growling in annoyance, Sam changed his mind and opted to go through the woods. The faster he got home, the better…and at least there were no cars in the woods.

--

Sam cursed as he stumbled over yet another tree root. Taking the short cut through the woods had seemed like a good idea, but that was before he realized that there was no trail. The last thing he needed to do was get lost…or fall on his face. However, using the sun as a guide, he seemed to be making decent headway towards the motel…not counting the multiple stumbles over tree roots. Given his current pace of limping, Sam figured he would make it to the motel within the next half hour, making the trip an hour total.

As he hopped his way around a large bush, Sam noticed a patch of grey on the ground to his right. When looked down, he recognized the small patch of grey as the pukwudgie. He didn't know if all pukwudgies looked the same, but this one certainly looked like the same creature he had seen before.

Sam whined; he had been hoping to get the motel and his family, before the thing returned. Fighting down his panic, he stared at the small creature.

"This is so not good…"

So far nothing was happening, but he figured it was only a matter of time. And worse, nobody would know where to look to find his body. He had to get out of the woods and find his father.

Choosing to ignore the little monster for the time being, Sam continued his way around the bush and resumed limping in what he hoped was the motel's direction. As he hobbled along, the pukwudgie kept up along side him. The creature reserved a distance of about ten feet between them, but continuously stared at Sam as they walked. Sam, on the other hand, divided his time between checking where the pukwudgie was and watching where he was going.

"I can't believe this day…"

It was hot. He was drenched in sweat, which was causing all of the dirt to cake up into the creases of his skin. He was being trailed by a supernatural creature, for once through no fault of his father's. His leg had an arrow wound in it and was probably still bleeding. And to top it all off, he was attracting every mosquito in the area.

Up ahead of him, Sam heard the rumble of cars and a backdrop of white buildings was able to be seen through the trees. He smiled, sagging in relief. He had almost reached the other side. In fact, as he walked, he could make out the parking lot of their current motel.

"Oh thank God."

Sam looked to his right to check on his short shadow, but the pukwudgie seemed to have disappeared. Confused, Sam looked around, stopping abruptly when he realized the creature was standing practically under him. As quickly as he could, Sam backed up, putting some space between them.

For a moment, he looked back and forth between the edge of the forest and the creature. He wondered if he could make it out, but given the fact that pukwudgies could disappear and reappear anywhere, it was a race he'd most likely lose. Then there was the small issue of the busy road between the forest and the motel. He really didn't need to get stuck on the road again.

Turning back to the creature, Sam confronted it. "What do you want?"

The pukwudgie gave no indication that it understood or even _heard_ the question.

Sam tried again, "Are you just toying with me? Or are you waiting for me to step out on that road so you can freeze me again?"

Still, the small monster just stood and stared, its oversized, grey belly reflecting the sun.

Sam sighed and looked beyond the pukwudgie as something grabbed his attention. The tree directly behind the creature was moving. Part of the bark seemed to be unwrapping from the tree and turning into…an old woman?

Sam's brow drew up in confusion. How was an old woman, made out of a tree going to kill him? Sam shook his head; that was probably something he didn't want to know.

Behind his new-found nemesis, the old woman winked her eye at Sam and put a finger to her lips.

The confusion returned to Sam's face. What the hell?

Then, tip-toeing forward, the hunch-back old lady leaned over the pukwudgie, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. Sam watched her take a deep breath before yelling, "Ahh!"

The pukwudgie screeched; jumping two feet into the air before it disappeared.

Despite his life-and-death situation, Sam burst out laughing. That had to be one of the funniest things he had ever seen. The old lady, who Sam now realized was not a manipulation of the pukwudgie, but actually a gwyllion, shook with laughter as well.

Regaining his composure, Sam took a step toward the bent figure. "Thank you."

The gwyllion's head shot up. With eyes bulging and baring a mouthful of sharp, dagger-shaped teeth, she roared and charged at Sam, who immediately turned on his heel and ran as fast as his leg would allow.

As he reached the road, he could hear the old woman's laughter echoing behind him. Breathing hard from exertion and fear, Sam kept moving; vowing not to stop until he was in the mini-cottage his father had rented from the motel.

Not a minute later, Sam finally limped through the cottage door.

* * *

_So not a lot- or any- familial interaction in this one, but I promise, the next chapter will be nothing but. I hope you all will tune in…_


	3. Family and Friends

_So here's Chapter 3. Special thanks to Phx for helping me clean this up some and Raven for supporting me through this process. Remember, this story would not exist if it weren't for her!_

_Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed (including RedDragen and Ann who I couldn't reply to) and everyone who is still reading regardless of whether they review. I'm just happy that you're coming back to read more. _

* * *

**The Convention: Chapter 3- Family and Friends**

"Dad!"

On a mission, Sam limped quickly through the rented living room in a beeline for the door of the small kitchen. Chances were his father and friends would be planning at the kitchen table.

Sure enough, just as Sam reached the swinging door, Dean came out of it. "Dude, keep your voice down. They're making namu sticks and they're still in the process of blessing them."

Without even looking at his brother, Sam planted his palm flat in the center of Dean's chest and pushed the twenty-year old into the wall and out of his way. There was a pukwudgie on his tail- no time to deal with Dean.

"Dad!"

Sam walked the two feet to the table and stood next to his father, who continued praying with the rest of the group. Sam shook his father's arm. "Dad, I've got a problem."

The prayer stopped as Jim Murphy sighed and rubbed his head. John turned and glared at his son. From behind Sam, Dean's voice rang out, "Sammy, they were thirty minutes into that blessing…"

Sam shook his head and resumed talking to his father. "Dad-"

His father cut him off. "Sammy, what the hell is wrong with you?! We'll have to start over now. Damn it, we don't have that kind of time. What the hell were you thinking just-"

"Dad, something's after me." Sam interrupted the man; there was no time for a lecture.

Abruptly, John stopped speaking. Then, after a pause, he squinted at his son. "What do you mean?"

Sam felt a tugging on the bottom of his pants. He looked down to see Dean crouched below him, examining his calf. "Sammy, what happened to your leg?"

"I was shot. Look, dad-"

His father stood up, pushing Sam back to get out of his seat. "You were _shot_?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean asked another question. "What's that thing on your back?"

Sam's eyes widened and he froze. He felt it. How long had it been there? Slowly, the object, which felt like a small child, began crawling up his back. Sam didn't move, didn't even breathe, fearful that if he did, the pukwudgie would strike. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the enlarged grey nose peeking over his shoulder.

A blast sounded and Sam felt his father grab him and pull him to the left before shielding him with his own body. Simultaneously, the pukwudgie flew off his shoulder and hit the wall by the kitchen door.

Sam looked out from under his father's hold and watched the dead creature leave a bloody trail as it slid down to the floor. For a moment, everything was silent and then his father was pulling Sam back out of the hold and checking him over. "Did anything hit you?"

Sam shook his head and his dad grabbed his face, looking him in the eyes. "You sure…"

Sam nodded even as the man looked down at the floor to his other son. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dad. What the hell is that thing?"

John ignored the question. "You sure nothing hit you."

Confused, Dean nodded. With a breath of relief, the elder Winchester turned to the Pastor who was sheathing his gun. "Thank you."

Jim nodded and smiled at Sam. "Hey Sammy, how you been?"

Sam sent him a crooked grin before responding, "Been better, but not too bad considering. Thanks for killing the pukwudgie for me."

The Pastor laughed. "Anytime."

"By the way, dad, what I was saying before, was that there's a pukwudgie after me."

The man looked down at the creature. "I noticed."

Sam turned his attention to his father's two other friends as Bobby nodded at him. "Sammy."

Sam smiled. "Hey Bobby."

After Caleb nodded his own greeting, he made his way over to examine the dead monster. John called to him over Sam's shoulder. "Dead?"

Caleb nodded and Dean stood up, fear shining through his eyes. "What the hell's a pukwudgie and who shot you? What the hell's going on?"

Relaxing for the first time in two hours, Sam dropped into his father's seat with a grimace. "I ran into a hunter. He shot me in the leg with a steel arrow…I think from a crossbow. Then, he shoved a gun in my face, said something in Latin, and threw some blood on me. Apparently now I'm a pukwudgie magnet." Before anyone could interrupt, Sam continued. "_Then_, I almost got ran down by _another_ hunter, who tried to kill the pukwudgie, but couldn't and just left me on the side of the road saying that I should just be happy that he didn't kill me because any other hunter would've."

Sam looked at his father and his friends. "Why the hell are there some many hunters around? What is there, a freakin' convention?"

Pastor Jim fought a smile as Bobby cleared his throat and turned away. Sam didn't miss the look of warning his father threw the two hunters. And apparently, neither did Dean. "Wait," Dean stepped forward, confronting his father, "there isn't _actually_ a hunter's convention? There aren't enough hunters for that…"

John's three friends avoided eye contact and silence filled the room.

"Are you serious?!" Dean stared down his father with his fists clenched.

"Watch your tone, Dean."

Dean ignored the warning, anger clouding his expression. "There's a _convention_?!"

Their father's eyes flashed. "There's no damn convention. This town's a hotspot for supernatural activity. If there are other hunters here, they're just looking for things to kill. That's all."

Sam didn't believe his father and it was obvious that Dean didn't either. However, before the man could be questioned further, Bobby spoke up. "John, if he's got a shadow on him, that's not the last pukwudgie we'll be seeing."

Caleb stood. "Bobby's right and this place is warded against ghosts and demons…not monsters."

John nodded, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll take care of it."

Jim looked surprised. "Surely you don't mean on your own…"

Bobby agreed. "You're a stubborn fathead, you know that? We care about the boys too-"

But the hunter cut him off. "Don't. Don't you dare. You've got nothing to do with them. They're _my_ sons; this is _my_ problem. I'll handle it. You can still use the sticks I collected and the flame throwers. I'll get more when we leave for Santa Fe."

Sam's brow rose, so they were going to Santa Fe next? Is that where he would be going to school?

Jim stepped forward. "John, we can help you out with this. The gwyllion can wait. She won't be hurting anybody."

But the older Winchester shook his head, looking at all three of his friends. "Sammy said a hunter did this-"

Caleb cut him off, directing a question to Sam. "What'd he look like?"

Sam knew what Caleb was getting at and skipped to the answer. "Neil Bristol was his name."

At that, all four of the older hunters shared a look. Slowly, John looked at his son. "You didn't tell him your name…"

Sam shook his head. "No. I thought about telling him during his speech to me about how monsters are real, but then…uh…" He made an apologetic face as he looked at his father. "Dad, you know, you don't always leave the best impression with people and I wasn't sure if it'd be better or worse if he knew I was your son."

John's friends chuckled at Sam's statement, but his father remained serious as he squeezed Sam's shoulder and nodded his approval. He directed an unreadable look toward the other hunters and then cautiously turned to his elder son. "Dean, take Sammy inside and clean up his leg."

Dean nodded curtly and pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulder. "Come on, Sammy."

Sam moved along, but turned back before he left the room. "Gwyllions can't leave the forest, right?"

Confused, the four hunters shook their heads. His father asked, "Why?"

"No reason." And he walked with his brother through the door.

--

"So it looks like I'll be interesting enough to hang out with after all; or are you pissed at me because I ruined your 'opportunity of a lifetime,' watching some hunters plan and then leave you behind?"

Dean glared at his brother as he dropped him onto the toilet. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Sam shrugged and helped his brother unwrap the "bandage" from his leg. "Nothin'. I was just wondering if you were pissed 'cause now you have to spend time helping me instead of watching dad and his friends."

Dean's eyes flashed as he looked up from what he was doing. "You're really freakin' self-centered, you know that?"

Sam leaned back. He was still a little hurt that Dean would rather stay at home doing nothing than hang out with him, but he didn't think that Dean was _actually_ angry that he had gotten himself into this mess.

When Sam gave no response, Dean continued. "It has nothing to do with you, Sammy. I wanted to be part of the group; I wanted to _learn_ from dad's friends. I _like_ hunting and I wanted to learn more. And I'm with you _all_ the time. What the hell is this?"

Sam's features darkened. "You're with me _hunting_ all the time." He motioned down to his leg. "This…this does not count as us hanging out. You love hunting; I _hate_ it. I just wanted to do something fun with you. And don't tell me that we're always doing that because after the hunting you go out to bars and I'm left on my own. Dad told you to get lost and I just figured instead of you going to a bar and me hanging out by myself, we could do something normal together. You used to do those things with me and I thought you were having fun then too."

Dean stood up, wiping his now bloody hands on his jeans. "Your life's all that bad? Hunting isn't your favorite thing- I get that. You make that clear. But don't sit there and tell me I don't do your normal shit. I'm at every one of your freakin' soccer games and _I_ was the one who came to watch you stand on the stage wearing aluminum foil, saying _no_ lines when you were in Hamlet." He pointed his finger as he confronted his brother. "You're pissed at dad, fine. I'm sorry dad doesn't have time to watch you do those things. But news flash, Sammy. I'm your brother, _not_ your father and most brothers, especially at my age, wouldn't be caught dead at their little brother's school play. So you know what? Stop being such a selfish little prick and think about someone else for a change. I just wanted to watch how they did things. I don't need your freakin' guilt trip."

Partially angry and partially guilty, Sam picked up one of the wash cloths and began cleaning his leg. It was true that Dean had been there for those things, and Sam had appreciated it- immensely. He hadn't realized that Dean had done those things to make up for their dad. He had thought Dean _wanted_ to see him play soccer and perform in the play, but apparently Dean had just been going out of obligation. Even the fun times when they were younger…it was clear from their conversation this afternoon that Dean had spent time with Sam because he was ordered to, not because he wanted to.

Dean kneeled in front of him with a bottle of alcohol and Sam pushed him away. "I'll do it myself. Go back to sitting in the corner and keeping your mouth shut."

Dean slammed the bottle on the ground and grit his teeth together. "What the hell is your problem?"

Sam picked the bottle up with shaking hands. "Nothing. You said you wanted to learn from dad's friends, so go do it. You're only here because you feel obligated to be. That's fine; I don't need your help with this. I may not like it, but I can clean and stitch this with my eyes closed. Dad taught me well. I didn't need you when I faced the pukwudgie and the gwyllion, I didn't need you when I pulled the arrow out of my leg and bandaged it, and I don't need you now. Go watch dad and his friends, that's what you want to do anyway…"

His chest heaving in barely restrained rage, Dean stood up and pointed down at his brother. "I don't need this shit from you. I haven't done anything-"

"Then GET OUT!"

Sam's scream echoed in the tiny bathroom and he began to shake more. Tears were threatening to fall, but he held them in, unwilling to have his brother see him cry. For a moment, the two brothers stared each other down, saying nothing. Then Sam swallowed and looked away. Opening the bottle, he began pouring the alcohol on his leg.

The pain was searing and his hand shook more. His grip on the bottle was lost and it fell from his hands, landing on its side and spilling its contents all over the floor. The pain broke Sam's barrier and he bent his head down over his knees, covering his face with his hand as the tears silently dripped from his eyes.

An eerie quiet filled the bathroom and the shaking seemed to spread from his hand to the rest of his limbs. As he sat hunched in on himself, Sam felt a gentle hand land rub down on his shoulder. Below him, the sound of the bottle being placed upright met his ears and a soft touch patted the liquid on his leg. Overwhelmed, and now frustrated that he couldn't handle cleaning the wound himself, Sam became more upset. He willed himself not to make any noise as hot tears burned their way down his cheeks. His palms pushed their way into his eyes in an attempt to stop the flow.

Sam felt the hand on his back disappear, followed by a burning pain in the back of his leg. "Looks like there's some dirt and stuff in the back. Bastard shot you from behind, didn't he? Nice…" Sam felt more pain before his brother spoke again. "It has to get cleaned out."

Taking a calming breath, Sam lifted his head and quickly wiped the saline from his face. He nodded at his brother, removing the cotton swabs from his hands. "I got it."

Dean's frustration showed, but he kept his voice quiet. "Sammy, it's in the back of your leg. You can't reach it. Let me do it."

Sam swallowed again and shook his head. "I owe you enough. I don't need to be any further in debt."

He watched his brother flinch, hurt crossing his features. "I never said you owed me-"

"You don't have to do any of those things anymore. You don't want to and I'm sixteen. I'm old enough to take care of myself. No one did those things for you and you turned out fine, so you go do what you want for yourself and you don't have to-"

Dean's fist slammed the floor. "Damn it, Sam, that's not what I said! Stop putting words in my mouth!"

Sam looked off to the side, not wanting to have another stare-down with his brother. His anger had dissipated leaving only hurt in its wake. It was true, Dean hadn't had anyone going to anything he was involved in…if there had been anything, and Sam certainly didn't want to make Dean's life any harder. He knew exactly what it was like to be forced into something you didn't want to do and if that was how Dean felt when he was ordered to take care of Sam, then at least that was something Sam could fix for his brother.

Getting no response, Dean let out an aggravated grunt, shoved his hands under Sam's armpits and yanked the teen to his feet. Forcibly, Sam was walked into the bedroom and pushed face first onto the bed. Then, before he could move, his legs were rearranged, the injured one placed in his brother's lap.

Sam twisted in Dean's grip, annoyed, and swatted at the hands holding him down. "I said I'd do it."

Dean held the injured limb still with one hand and pushed his brother down on the bed with the other. "Stop moving and lay there or I'll do this sitting on you."

Giving up, Sam huffed a breath and crossed his arms under his head. He remained quiet as his brother pulled each fragment from the hole with the tweezers. It was painful and Sam had to work to keep his leg from twitching in his brother's grasp.

After ten minutes, the wound was clean and another swab of alcohol was pressed into it. Sam remained silent throughout the process, barely making a sound as his brother stitched both sides of the wound closed. Finally, a half hour later, it was finished.

Dean extricated himself from under his brother's limb and stood up. "You're done. Dad probably wants you inside so they can deal with whatever that guy did to you."

Sam turned on his side and slowly worked his way to standing. Still unwilling to make eye-contact, Sam looked off to the side as he expressed gratitude to his brother. "Thanks."

Dean gave a tight lipped nod, but didn't answer and Sam knew he was still furious. Throwing Sam's arm over his shoulder, Dean led his brother out of the bedroom. When they entered the living room, both boys stopped short. A pukwudgie stood next to the couch, staring at them.

Immediately, Dean let go of his brother and drew his gun. The expected shot never came. Instead, Dean stood, his arm outstretched, blinking at the creature. With confusion adorning his face, Sam looked at his brother. "What are you doing? Shoot."

Dean didn't reply, didn't even move and all at once, Sam saw the terror in his brother's eyes. The pukwudgie had him immobilized.

With a sigh, Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's all right, Dean. You'll be able to move again as soon as it leaves."

Dean's breathing became quicker; Sam's comments didn't seem to reassure his brother. To his left, the pukwudgie was moving and Sam turned to watch what the monster was doing, never having seen it move before.

The grey creature was holding out its arm, palm up, directly in line with its face. At first Sam was confused, but as he watched, he saw a silver dart emerge from the skin of the monster's inner wrist.

With no way of stopping the pukwudgie himself, Sam screamed for his father. "Dad!"

The scream apparently startled the creature and it quickly aimed its wrist. Realizing what was about to happen, Sam pushed his defenseless brother out of the shot just as the pukwudgie fired the dart. Dean hit the floor, still frozen in his firing position. A whistle of wind flew past Sam as a sharp pain hit his right arm. Not a second later, a gunshot sounded followed by the monster's whine as it was hit in the chest.

"Let me see it." His father was already at his side, pulling at the arm that Sam didn't even realize he was holding. Now able to move, Dean scrambled to his feet, replaced his gun, and joined his father in prodding Sam's grazed arm.

"It's just a scratch." Sam tried to reclaim his arm, but his dad wouldn't release the hold. It was clear from the man's expression he was panicked.

"Dad-"

As Sam went to reassure his father, Bobby's voice sounded from behind him. "Dart hit the wall."

Jim approached the trio, sympathy expressed in his features. "I'm sorry, John."

Sam watched his father swallow hard, appearing to be fighting back tears.

"Dad, I'm fine. It was just a scratch."

Behind him, Bobby called out again. "It hit him?"

Jim nodded and Sam heard, "Shit, Johnny…I'm…shit."

Sam began to feel nervous. His dad was on the verge of tears and everyone was expressing their sympathy? That couldn't be good.

Caleb moved into Sam's eye-line, speaking to his father. "How long's it been?"

Shaking himself from his revere, John looked down. "I'm not sure."

Caleb nodded and approached Sam. "How do you feel?"

"Freaked out?" He was. Everyone else's reactions were unnerving to say the least.

Caleb shook his head and turned his attention back to John. "It has to have been over thirty seconds. He'd be dead by now if the poison hit him."

Sam looked at his father, hoping for some sign of confirmation. He really didn't want to die. Unfortunately, his dad didn't look all that convinced as he spoke to Dean. "Get me the holy water and the alcohol. Now."

Dean ran from the room and reappeared not ten seconds later. His dad worked quickly as he washed the small scratch with first the holy water, then the alcohol.

Caleb spoke again. "It's been way too long. If it hit him, we'd know by now." The man clapped Sam on the shoulder. "You're one lucky son of a bitch."

Sam smiled and sagged in relief. His father placed a bandaid over the cut and eyed his friends. "We're doing this the short way."

The three others nodded and Jim spoke. "We'll back you up."

John shook his head. "I don't need the back up with Bristol. I'll handle him myself. What I will need is cover with the others."

Jim answered. "Not going to be a problem."

The elder Winchester nodded his thanks and turned to Dean. "There are bags in the kitchen. They need to be buried, one foot under, outside, center of each wall. When you're done," the man pointed to Sam, "stay with him. Don't let him out of your sight."

Dean acknowledged the orders and left for the kitchen. The four older hunters checked their weapons and donned their jackets.

Sam sat himself on the couch, watching the men prepare to leave. Finally, his father turned to him. "I should be back in two hours. Stay with your brother."

Sam called out as his dad left. "Wait, I didn't tell you where he lives…"

John turned back, deadly hatred pouring from his eyes. He growled at his son, "I know where he is."

And with that the four experienced hunters were out the door.

* * *

_Did you like it? Hate it? Review and let me know. I'd love to know what you thought! _

_And stay tuned…the next chapter has John vs. Bristol!_


	4. Confrontations

_Chapter 4 has arrived! Thank you all so much for your positive reviews! There was a huge response to that last chapter, which leads me to the conclusion that people just like to see Sam and Dean fight. Therefore, ya'll will hopefully like this one too. _

_Special thanks to: Mid-night sun, b, Joralie, and Amy who I couldn't reply to. Thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

**The Convention: Chapter 4- Confrontations**

Sam looked up from his book as his brother entered the room. His pants were covered in mud and Sam could only assume that his father's bags of protection had been properly buried. He watched his brother as Dean walked by him without even a glance, sat down in the chair, and turned on the TV.

Sam sighed. One would think that taking a dart for his brother would've pushed them passed their little squabble, but apparently not. Sam stared at his sibling as the twenty-year-old flipped through the channels. Finally, the staring became too much for the older boy. Dean hit the remote down on his leg. "What?!"

Sam pushed himself back in his seat and shook his head. Quickly, he re-opened his book and only relaxed when Dean resumed changing the channels. Sam thought back to their argument. Honestly, he had no idea why Dean was still upset with him. He knew why _he_ was still feeling hurt. He had never thought of himself as a "job" for his brother. Being apparently self-centered, he had enjoyed the time he and Dean spent one-on-one and had assumed Dean liked it too. Sam slunk lower in his seat. He'd been told what happens when people assume.

But why the hell was Dean still mad at him? Unless Dean was mad that he was forced to stay here and babysit his brother instead of going along with their dad… That was possible, but Dean hadn't ever moped about something like that before. And actually, if Dean _had_ voiced his frustrations regarding Sam before, Sam would have known that Dean wanted to be elsewhere. He would never have asked Dean to see him play soccer had he known Dean would rather be doing something else.

Sam closed his eyes and hit his head against the sofa. Of course Dean would rather do something else than watch a soccer game. Dean had little interest in soccer. Sam silently yelled at himself; he really was that self-centered.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean looked away from the TV with suspicious eyes. "What?"

Sam put the book down. "For being self-centered. You're right. I wasn't thinking about what you would want. I'm sorry."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he tried to find sarcasm in his brother's words. Upon finding none, his expression grew confused and he cautiously nodded at his brother. "Okay."

Sam looked down. "Listen, this year…you don't have to come. I mean, you can follow dad or whatever. I'm good now. You don't need to be there."

Dean flicked off the TV. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Soccer…and whatever else. I mean, even the every day stuff. I'm older, man. I can do it now. Even the laundry and cooking and stuff. I mean, you did it alone all those years. I should start paying you back-"

Sam stopped as Dean threw the remote onto the table with such force that the battery cover broke off. "Oh, for crap's sake, Sammy. I never…freakin'…said that. You missed the whole point of why I'm even pissed off."

Sam stared back at his brother in complete confusion. Evidently he _had_ missed the whole point as to why Dean was pissed. "I thought that's why, practically raising me takes time from you doing what you really want, just like hunting takes time from what _I_ really want to do. It's okay, Dean. I understand. I'm not saying it like I'm angry. I just want to fix it for you."

Dean shook his head, sucking his lips into his teeth in anger, and stood up. "You made up that whole thing on your own. I _never_ said any of that. I only wanted, just for today, to stay here 'cause everyone was coming over. That's all I said. Just that. You keep making this about you. It's _not_ about you. It has nothing to do with _you_."

Sam stood up and met his brother head on. "Yes it does." He pointed at his sibling as he continued the argument. "It does involve me because _I'm_ the reason you're not watching dad and his buddies right now. You _just_ said, _just_ now that you wanted to stay with them and all I know is you're not with them because of me. So don't tell me that it has nothing to do with me. _I'm _the one keeping you from where you want to be."

Dean shook his head and plopped back into his seat, turning away from his brother. Realizing that their argument would have to once again be put on pause, Sam moved to sit back on the couch. As he took the step backwards, his vision swam and his legs buckled from under him. Abruptly, Sam found himself seated on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands.

What the hell just happened? Why was he dizzy all of a sudden? For a moment Sam grew frightened; nervous that the dart's poison actually was affecting him. But then it occurred to him that he had been shot in the leg and although the arrow hadn't hit anything major, the wound had been bleeding for over two hours. Blood loss commonly made people dizzy.

Feeling much calmer with that explanation, Sam slowly lifted his head and pushed himself back. The dizziness seemed to have passed for the moment. Then, just as he thought he had stabilized, a second wave of dizziness crashed through his head. Completely disoriented, he gripped the cushions with his fists to keep from falling over. As it was, he may have been wobbling back and forth; it certainly felt that way.

Sam became alarmed again. He had suffered from mild blood loss before and he'd been dizzy, but never while he was sitting still. Eventually, the vertigo passed and he took a calming breath.

"Dean?"

Dean's back remained to him. Swallowing carefully, fearful that any movement would cause him to lose his ground, he tried again. "Dean, something's not…I feel funny..."

He didn't even need to finish, within a second, Dean was bending over him. "Dude, you're completely white."

Sam would've looked up to see his brother, but he was afraid to move his head. "You think it's blood loss? I'm really dizzy."

Dean crouched in front of him and checked the bandage on his leg. "Doesn't look like it's bleeding too much. Actually, it looks like it stopped."

Sam didn't want that answer. The alternative explanation for his dizziness was far less welcome. Slowly, he looked down at his brother with fear in his eyes. "You think it was the dart?"

Based on Dean's reaction, he _hadn't_ been thinking that; but he was now. For a moment Dean froze, wide-eyed and still. Then he shook his head, looking rather unsure despite his words. "Nah. Couldn't be. You heard Caleb, thirty seconds and it's over. It's been like thirty minutes."

Sam nodded and Dean tapped his brother's leg supportively. "Whole day probably just caught up with you. You know, like blood loss meets adrenaline crash." He indicated to stretch out on the couch. "Lay down. You'll feel better after you rest."

Sam moved slowly, still afraid to move his head too much. As he laid down, he questioned his brother. "What if the pukwudgies come back?"

Dean smirked. "What? You think I can't handle a two-foot tall, overweight, dwarf?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, like you did so well the last time…"

Dean grew serious as he leaned in over his brother's face. "Hey, uh, I never thanked you for saving my life."

Sam's grin remained as he shut his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm a selfish little prick and I wanted my brother around to watch me stand on a stage wearing aluminum foil. It wasn't about you; don't make everything about you, Dean."

He heard Dean's laugh and felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. Sam could hear the emotion in his sibling's voice as Dean bent over him. "Thanks for saving my life, Sammy."

Sam gripped his brother's forearm briefly. "I'd do it anytime."

--

Stepping up to the dilapidated barn door, John massaged his chin. His teeth had been clenched together so hard that his jaw was aching. The sight of Sam getting hit by that dart had left him seriously shaken. The darts of pukwudgies killed instantly and with their ability to manipulate movement and disappear and reappear at will, they were _extremely_ powerful and dangerous. That's why he hadn't gone after any of them since his sons had started hunting with him.

There were several beings that he didn't want his sons hunting: pukwudgies, vampires, devas, succubi, tricksters, and plenty more actually. He wanted his boys trained and prepared, but despite what Sammy thought, he didn't want them in needless danger. If they were forced to deal with those creatures, fine. If not, they were avoided. Unfortunately, thanks to Bristol, they couldn't be avoided this time.

John pulled out his weapon. He needed to hurry this up and get back to his boys. The wards he gave Dean should keep the monsters out of the cottage, but having hundreds of pukwudgies pile up on the lawn wasn't a good scenario either. And God only knew if they could shoot the darts through the windows.

There were two ways of cleansing a person with a shadow on them…the shadow being the darkness that attracts pukwudgies. One would be to perform a cleansing. That would take days and require bleeding Sammy and obtaining the blood that was thrown onto him. The other option, the quicker option, would be to kill the person who cast the shadow.

John cocked the gun. He was a good man. He never thought himself a murderer, but Bristol had him backed into a corner and he'd be damned if he was going to let Sammy die just to keep his own conscience clean. Hell, he was practically over that line anyway.

He had done everything he could to keep his boys protected. He spent all those years training them just to keep them safe from this shit. And now they were smack in the middle of it _because_ John had brought them too close to the other hunters. He just _had_ to go the freakin' convention. He knew he should've kept his distance. Every instinct he had told him to keep his boys from the others. He had let Jim and Bobby convince him otherwise. John shook his head…never again. Next time his instincts were talking, he'd listen. He'd _ditch_ his boys before he led them into danger again. They could take care of themselves…and each other. They wouldn't like it, they wouldn't understand, and they'd never forgive him, but at least they'd be breathing.

Peering through the opening between the two doors, John could make out Bristol's silhouette. Squinting, he raised his gun to his eyesight. His finger itched on the trigger, but that damn conscience in the back of his head wouldn't let him pull it. He only saw the silhouette; he had to be sure it was Bristol. Besides, if he ended up shooting someone else, it'd tip Bristol off.

Lowering his gun, John slunk through the opening between the doors. The barn had only one single light bulb hanging from the roof. The remainder of the light was filtering in through the slots in the wood. Unfortunately, enough of the light was blocked when John passed through the doors that it tipped his presence off to the enemy.

Quickly, the other man whirled around, gun drawn up in front of him. John pulled his gun up as well, cursing himself for not taking the shot when he had it. The outline he'd targeted _had_ been Bristol.

Cautiously, the man lowered his weapon, a confused look on his face. "Winchester? What the hell you doing here? You of all people should know not to sneak up on a fellow, not unless you want a bloody hole in your head."

John approached his colleague slowly, never having lowered his weapon. The other hunter immediately realized that something was wrong. "Winchester, what the hell? Lower your weapon."

John stopped ten feet from his prey. Through enraged eyes, he stared the man down. "You happen to curse anybody today, Bristol?"

The man furrowed his brow before nodding. "Bunch of kids were trespassing on my land. Only caught one of 'em, but I decided to use him as an example. Put a shadow on 'em."

John tightened his grip on the weapon. "You shoot him in the leg too?"

Bristol let out a short laugh. "What the hell is this? You gonna tell me I can't shoot trespassers on my own land?" He motioned to the front door. "I got a sign that says, 'trespassers will be shot'. I'm givin' 'em fair warning."

The glare never left John's face and the other man shook his head with a smile. "What? The kid's folks pay you or somethin'? How much they give you? I'll pay you half and we'll forget this. It ain't worth it to you; you shoot me and half the hunters in this area will be out for revenge."

John spoke through clenched teeth. "That kid's worth more to me than you could _ever_ afford."

Bristol laughed again, leaning on his work bench and crossing his arms. "All right then, name your price. What's this worth to you?"

John shook his head. "Everything."

Not expecting or understanding that answer, the man became confused. "What the hell do you mean 'everything'?"

The hunter stepped forward. "He was mine, Bristol."

Based on Bristol's perplexed expression, he still didn't comprehend what he was being told. John explained more clearly. "The boy you put a hole in and cursed today is my son."

The man's face went stark white, a wide-eyed look of shock covering his features. Then he quickly shook his head, stepping away from the table. "No, that can't be. He was playing soccer with the others. He was friends with them; he knew them; hell, he risked his life to save one of 'em. He knew I was a hunter; he never said anything."

"You think any one of those kids would've known what you are?" John shook his head in disgust. "My kid's sixteen and he had you figured out in two seconds. How long you been hunting that him knowing what you are didn't set off any alarms for you?"

Bristol swallowed and held his hands up in surrender. "John, if he'd 've told me who he was-"

"You would've killed him."

The man tried to disagree, but the irate father cut him off. "He was already shot. If he'd 've told you his name, you would've killed him right there. No way in hell you'd risk having the conversation we're having right now."

The other hunter seemed to have no response to that. With a resigned sigh, he looked at the man holding the gun. "I'd offer you the blood, but I'm guessing you've decided to do this the easy way."

John took two steps forward, his gun leading the way. "Don't make me the bad guy here. You left me no choice. I don't like crossing this line, but I'm not letting my son die for you."

Suddenly, Bristol dropped to the floor and rolled under his work bench. John took the shot, but not having expected the quick movement, his bullet hit the barn wall. A shiny object came sailing at him and he ducked. Two seconds later, another piece of metal hit his hand, knocking his gun to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Bending down to watch his gun sail under the work bench, across the floor, and under a metal box, John could hear his opponent begin reciting Latin. Realizing that he couldn't reach his gun in time to do anything effective, he searched the work area for another weapon.

At that moment, Bristol also popped up, finishing his Latin chant and grabbing a plastic container of blood off the table. Cold wind blew and the interior of the barn grew dark. Knowing what was coming, John picked up a nearby trash bag and held it in front of himself just as his adversary ripped off the top of the container and threw the blood.

The wind stopped and light, once again, penetrated the barn. Cautiously, John lowered the bag. What was done, was done. He dropped his shield to the floor and eyed his enemy. "What's the matter, Neil? Don't have the balls to kill me yourself?"

The man smiled. "I just thought you'd want to know what it'll feel like for your son."

John glared at the mention of Sammy. Then, he noticed something. On the side of Bristol's hand was one single drop of blood. Quickly, he checked himself over. There were a few drops on his shoes, but nothing seemed to have hit his skin. Bending down, he quickly removed the shoes as he felt his face and hair. Now shoeless, he stood up and slowly backed away from his enemy.

Behind Bristol, a pukwudgie appeared. The man flicked his head, indicating that John should look behind him. "Looks like it won't take long…"

The hunter nodded at the spotted hand. "You cut yourself?"

Curious, Bristol turned his hand over and stared. With a face of curiosity and denial, he smeared the drop with his other hand. As John had suspected, there was no injury behind it. Bristol turned his now frightened eyes to his former associate.

John backed toward the doors. The pukwudgies didn't follow. Their eyes remained fixed on red-handed hunter. "If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of hunting, no matter what the evil son of a bitch is…every one of them hates being manipulated."

As he spoke, four more pukwudgies appeared, surrounding their prey. Bristol, turned in a circle, shaking his head as they all began to raise their arms. "No, I wasn't manipulating you! They were gifts!"

"They're drawn to the shadows, Bristol. Pukwudgies don't have any problems finding someone to play with. You took the choice out of it for them."

All at once, the creatures shot their darts. John cringed as his adversary stiffened, gasping for breath. That could've been his son. He felt no sympathy when the man began screaming in pain, stumbling around as his muscles spastically contracted beneath his skin. Bristol would be dead in the next twenty seconds. If John was going to escape, his best bet would be now while the pukwudgies were distracted.

Leaving his shoes and gun, the hunter turned on his heel and ran out the doors, not stopping until he was at his car. With Bristol dead, even if some of the blood _had_ landed on him, the shadow would be gone. John sighed as he turned on the engine. In the end, he hadn't needed to cross the line; Bristol had ended up killing himself. Still, this was the closest he'd come so far to losing himself and becoming like the others. He was raising his sons to be hunters and it scared him to the core. He knew the other hunters, what they were like, and if his sons became like them, cold-blooded murders…

John shook the thoughts from his head. His sons didn't know the others- would never know them. They'd follow his example and so long as he kept them away from the hunter culture, he'd keep them safe from becoming the very things that they hunted.

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_As always, please review and let me know your thoughts!_

_More of Sam and Dean in the next chapter!_


	5. Nobody Knows Crap

_So Chapter 5 was originally going to be longer, however, the part that would've made it longer ran away from me, so that part will now be chapter 6 and chapter 5 will remain as is._

_After this, I believe there will be two more chapters before the end. There will be 7 chapters in all._

_Many, many, many thanks to all the people who brightened my life by reviewing. I really do treasure and reread and reread and reread every one of them. Thank you. _

_Special thanks to: Amy and Lianne who I couldn't reply to. Thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

**The Convention: Chapter 5- Nobody Knows Crap  
**

"Hey, Sammy. Feeling better?" Dean watched as his brother blinked blearily, awaking from his 20 minute power nap. He couldn't help feeling relieved when he saw the color had returned to his brother's cheeks.

Sam nodded, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he pushed himself up with the other. Now seated, he shook out his head and looked at his brother. "How long did I sleep?"

Dean laughed. "Dude, only twenty minutes. You wanna go back? Everything's been quiet on my end."

Sam shook his head as he yawned. "Only twenty minutes? I feel like I slept for hours."

Dean stood up with his rifle, sneaking a peek through the curtains. Two pukwudgies had been standing right outside their cottage throughout Sam's nap and sure enough, they were still there. They didn't seem to be doing much so far, just standing and staring at the house. In fact, they were so eerily still that if he didn't know any better, Dean would've thought they were two of those little gnome statues that people loved so much. He shook his head and backed away from the covered windows. What was people's fascination with those ugly little things anyway?

Sam looked over at the window, still seeming half-asleep. "Why're the curtains shut?"

Throwing the rifle over his shoulder, Dean walked toward the couch. "Pukwudgies are camping out on the lawn. Figured I'd shut the curtains, it's getting to be like camp OJ out there."

Sam appeared concerned before asking, "How many?"

Dean shrugged. "Two."

Sam rolled his eyes and flopped back with a sigh. Evidently he had been thinking it'd be a higher number.

Dean hit his brother on the shoulder. "Come on, you should drink something, replace the fluids."

Sam nodded and pushed himself up. Once he was standing, his legs quickly gave out from under him.

"Whoa!" Dean reached out and grabbed his brother around the waist and eased him back down to the couch. "Maybe you should go a little slower there, blood-loss boy."

Looking fearful, Sam blinked and shook his head. "Dean, that was weird."

"You never stood up too fast before?"

Furrowing his brow, Sam tried to explain. "No, it wasn't…it wasn't from my head. It was my legs."

Dean put the rifle on the table and crouched down, checking the bandage on his brother's leg. Once again, it looked good. "The leg looks okay, maybe-"

"No!"

Dean looked up with a start to tears in his brother's eyes.

"It's not the wound. It's both my legs. It feels like they have no strength."

For a moment, Dean just stared back at his brother, not quite knowing how to respond to that. Then, before he could think of what to say, Sam moaned and doubled over in pain. Immediately, Dean tried to pull his brother back. "Sammy? What's wrong?"

Teary eyes looked up at him and Dean's vision was drawn to Sam's right arm. His wrist was bent in an "L" shape, fingers splayed out with his thumb running parallel with his arm. On the inside of the arm, Dean could see the muscle twitching in a spasm. Sam's other hand was trying to rub out the cramp.

Quickly, Dean pulled his brother's arm into his lap and began massaging the muscle. He could feel the tight knot under the skin and could only imagine the pain his brother was in as the contracted tissue continuously tried to force the thumb down.

Just as the cramp was beginning to loosen, Sam jerked back, yelling in pain. His head was thrown back, his back arched so severely that he looked like one of those gymnasts stretching in a "bridge". As his brother gasped for air between teeth clamped in pain, Dean brought his hand to Sam's back, only to feel another knotted muscle twitching spastically there.

For a moment, Dean was overwhelmed, torn between helping Sam's back or his arm. But before he could make a decision, Sam screamed, bending forward at the hips while his back remained in an arch.

Dean stood up, not sure what to do to help his brother who's abdominal and back muscles were contracting at the same time. Sam was howling in pain now, every inhale a shriek and every exhale a cry. The sight was horrible as Sam rocked back and forth, the two muscle groups fighting with each other; Sam's wrist remaining bent as the quivering tissue held it in place. With his loudest yell yet, that continued passed when he had run out of air, Sam looked at his brother, his eyes pleading for help.

Dean bent down, throwing Sam on his side and supporting his stomach with one hand as he rubbed his back with the other. Sam struggled through his breaths and Dean used all his strength to force at least Sam's back muscles to relinquish their hold.

Sam's screams were silent now, his overtaxed voice box no longer adding sound to the pained expunge of air.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dean could feel the contracted muscles relaxing, twitching rhythmically as they recovered. Once Sam's back eased, his abdomen quickly followed. All that was left was the spastic arm, which Dean massaged down until it too was loose, although still trembling.

Crisis over, Dean looked over to his brother's face only to find Sam sobbing into the cushions.

"Somewhere else?"

The head shook and Dean realized that his brother was just recovering. Lightly, he rubbed his hand over his brother's shuddering back muscles, ignoring the small tremors that passed underneath his hand. Finally, after a few minutes, Sam turned his tear-stained face to the side. His nose was running and he licked his lips as he closed his eyes. "I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

Dean's hand pulled back as though burned. That thought had been in the back of his mind, far back, while Sam's muscles were in spasms, but now that things were calmer, Dean wasn't sure what to think. Unless something had been on the arrow, Sam's symptoms weren't related to the wound, which meant they were caused by the dart. But the dart was supposed to kill instantly.

Sam had just been grazed…maybe a ridiculously small amount of the poison had entered the scratch. But in that case, was Sammy going to die? Was it that the poison just as lethal in smaller amounts but took longer to accomplish the act?

"Dean?"

Dean looked down, realizing that his brother was still waiting for an answer. Filling his voice with confidence he didn't have, he answered his sibling. "You're not gonna die, Sammy."

The eyes opened. "That wasn't blood loss. It has to be the dart." Sam's voice drew back to a whisper. "The poison is fatal."

Dean grew annoyed. "Yeah, and it also kills instantly, so clearly nobody knows crap around here."

Sam smiled, closing his eyes once again. "You're the one who wanted to learn from them."

Dean wasn't getting sucked back into that argument- not given Sam's current condition.

Sam's eyes opened once again and this time, he shifted his body so that he was staring right at his brother. Sam swallowed hard, on the verge of tears. "I'm scared, Dean. I don't want to die- not like…it's too painful."

Dean leaned down over his brother, grabbing on to both of his arms. "Hey. Listen to me. You will be fine. You are not going to die. Everything will be okay."

Sam shook his head, a tear spilling out. "You don't know that."

But Dean's expression held no doubt. "Sammy, I swear it. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise you, you're not dying- and especially not on my watch."

Sam smiled and swallowed again, wiping his nose with his twitching arm. "How're you gonna fix this?"

That was a good question. Dean felt his panic grow. Sam totally believed he could fix this; it was written all over the kid's face. The only problem was Dean had _no idea_ as to how to fix this. Looking back down at his brother's trusting eyes, he tried to buy himself some time. "I think I overheard Caleb telling dad something about Rose Hips being used as a preventative for the poison, maybe it works as a cure too."

Dean had just completely made that up, but what Sam didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, he left in the implication that it may not work…

Sam, for his part, didn't seem to notice the lie. He just believed Dean's words without question. "Okay."

Dean nodded and tapped his brother's arm before standing up. "Try to rest a bit. I'll go see if I can dig some up."

"'K." Sam blinked at his brother, his eyes reflecting his complete faith. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean sighed and looked down. "Don't thank me. You wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for me."

Sam appeared confused and Dean explained. "We should've just gone to the movies."

With a slight shake of the head, Sam's voice whispered his reply. "No..."

"Well then the dart that was meant for me should've hit me."

Sam's head shook again, his voice just as quiet as before. "No, Dean."

"Sam don't-"

"I wouldn't know what to do."

Both brothers spoke at the same time, but Dean stopped sooner realizing that it would be impossible to hear his brother's soft voice over his own loud one. "What do you mean?"

Sam explained. "If it hit you, I wouldn't know how to fix it. I never heard what Caleb said. I wouldn't know about the Rose Hips. I wouldn't know what to do if it was you, Dean. I'd have to just make something up."

For a moment, Dean just stared at his brother, not even sure what to feel. Sam took the opening to start speaking again although his eyes were now closed. "It's good that you stayed here to watch dad and his friends. You were right, it was an important opportunity. We can go to the movies another day."

Dean stood frozen, Sammy's last words stabbing him in the heart. Given the way things looked right now, there possibly wouldn't be another day for Sam. If that were the case, Dean knew he would spend the rest of his life mourning the day he passed up the last opportunity he had to go to the movies with his brother. In the grand scheme of things, _that_ opportunity had been far more important than the one he had been fixated on all day. If only he had known that then.

--

The cramps were killing him. They were coming more frequently now and although Dean was helping him rub them out, without much breathing time between spasms, he was starting to lose it. Dean had promised him that he wouldn't die and as much as Sam wanted to believe it, he knew Dean ultimately had no control over it.

Suddenly, Sam's injured calf tightened. The knot formed right below the knee, intensely painful on its own, without counting the pulls in the stitches. Sam gasped in pain, tears re-entering his tightly closed eyes.

"Where?" Dean had barely left his side since the spasms began.

"Leg. By the hole."

He could feel his brother massage the cramp, each stroke of Dean's fingers aggravating the wound. He hadn't even realized that he was holding his breath until he gasped again and ended up choking. Sam coughed, he eyes still squeezed shut, his trembling abdominal muscles pulled as tight as they could be, all to try to distract himself from the agony in his leg. Finally, he felt the sharp pain dissolve into a dull ache and the muscle began twitching.

Sam panted hard and slowly opened his wet eyes. Looking down, he noticed that his fists were curled up in the couch's upholstery. Leaning back against the sofa, he gradually straightened his hands. The cushions remained dented; two perfectly shaped hand grips illustrated where Sam had hung on through the pain.

Dean stayed crouched at his feet, still massaging the back of his calf. Out of the blue, the front door opened and before Sam could blink, Dean had dropped his leg and was aiming a rifle at their father.

The man looked at them curiously before walking over. He nodded at Dean's hands. "The leg still bleeding?"

Sam followed his father's eyeline, and saw the blood on his brother's hands. Dean put the rifle down and shook his head. "No, I mean yes, but it only just started again now."

Their father's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Sam noticed something. "Dad? Where're your shoes?"

John sent him a look that indicated, 'don't ask' and turned his attention back to Dean.

"Sammy's been getting muscle cramps. They've been pretty bad. This last one was in his calf."

Immediately their father's face turned red. "When did this start?!"

Sam watched his brother blanch as he fumbled for an answer. "I don't know, like, an hour ago?"

Their dad's breathing grew heavier. "An hour ago? And you didn't think to come find me?"

Sam blinked at the ridiculousness of that question, but before he could say anything, his brother stood up. "Come find you? How the hell was I supposed to do that?" He motioned to the window. "There're pukwudgies out on the lawn just waiting for us to leave and besides, _you_ had the car. What the hell did you want me to do?!"

Their father shook his head in defeat and ran a hand over his face while mumbling, "Watch your tone, Dean." Then the man looked back at his elder son, still shaking his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. And the pukwudgies are gone now. We don't have to worry about that anymore."

Sam watched as both members of his family let out long breaths. In an attempt to point out how well Dean had handled the muscle cramp crisis on his own, Sam addressed his father. "Dean's been helping me rub out the cramps and he gave me some of the rose hips like Caleb said. The spasms…well, there's more of them, but I don't think they're lasting as long. Maybe I'm getting better…"

His dad looked down at him as though he had sprouted an extra head and Dean suddenly looked very uncomfortable. John looked to Dean. "Caleb was here?"

Dean's eyes went wider and he gave a sheepish grin. "Uh…can I talk to you in the kitchen for a sec, Dad?"

His father appeared suspicious but agreed. Sam looked on in confusion as his family left the room. That was weird, what did Dean have to tell their father that he couldn't say in front of-

A knock at the still open front door interrupted Sam's thoughts. Looking over, Sam's eyes widened and he pushed back on the couch. The gwyllion, now clad in actual skin and a long gray dress, was standing on the threshold looking at him.

Sam mumbled to himself, under his breath. "Can gwyllions leave the forest? Nope. Oh, the dart couldn't have poisoned him, he'd be dead by now. Seriously, nobody knows _crap_. Expert hunters…Dean wants to learn from them…freakin' ridiculous…"

* * *

_I hope you're still enjoying this and that you'll come back for more! Please review and let me know your thoughts…_


	6. Unexpected Visitor

_A __**very**__ special thanks has to go to __**Cakehole Cat**__ for her help with this chapter. She was extremely kind and helpful and went out of her way to make sure I got the Welshness of this chapter correct. She is also responsible for the infusing of the accent. So, full round of applause should go to her for all the work on the gwyllion. Oh! I also have some translations at the end.  
_

_As always, thank you all for your wonderful, supportive reviews and feedback. I really, really appreciate every one of them. Also, thanks to Amy who I couldn't reply to. _

* * *

**The Convention: Chapter 6- Unexpected Visitor**

The gwyllion cleared her throat and Sam returned his attention back to her. She spoke with a watery voice and a Welsh accent. "Dew-dew... Can I come in? Rest me legs f'ra bit?"

Sam laughed at the complete ludicrousness of this entire day. He waved over to the chair. "Sure…why not? Have a seat, take a load off. You want something to drink? Eat?"

The old women walked over to the chair and sat down. She shook her head. "Oh, no! Nothing for me, thank yew."

Sam raised his brow. "You sure?"

"Oh, I d'mind, I'm easy..." she sniffed, "...I wouldn' mind some _water_. If you're offrin."

Sam leaned over to the end table and picked up his glass of water. Dean had brought it to him right after the first bought of cramps to help wash down the rose hips. He handed it over to the gwyllion who accepted with a smile.

Taking a small sip, she indicated his leg. "Still bothering you, s'it?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but it's been cleaned out and bandaged so it should get better."

The gwyllion took another sip of water before squinting a look at Sam's arm. Then, putting the water on the coffee table, the old women stood up and shuffled her way to Sam's side. Sam leaned away from the lady, expecting her to scare him. Instead, she sniffed the scratch, made a face of disgust ("_Ych _a fi!") and hobbled back to the chair. Sam's apprehensive look remained throughout.

The gwyllion took another sip of the water, but said nothing. Shaking his head, again, at the weirdness of the day, he questioned the creature. "I smell bad?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Good God no! No. It's the dirt from the pukwudgie, mun. _Dir_ty bunch of _moch_yns they are! It's absalewtly dis_gust_in how many germs're on the insides of theyer wrists! . . . Looks like you're a bit too slow fr'um, eh?"

The woman laughed heartily at her own joke and the door to the kitchen burst open. "What the hell?"

That would be his father. Sam held in his own laughter as he pictured introducing his family to their new house guest. 'Dad, Dean, this the gwyllion I met in the woods. Gwyllion, this is my brother and dad.' Right…that would go over well.

Gwyllions were harmless, but Sam wasn't sure what would happen if he let on to the old woman that he knew what she was. Would she remain harmless if she knew she was surrounded by hunters?

Sam watched as his father approached the lady. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

The gwyllion put her water down again and stood up. She curtseyed at John. "Oh, mae'n _ddrwg _gyda fi - I'm sorry. I was just passin' by, an' I asked the boy yer if I could rest my feet fr'a bit. He's been _tra _garedig, very kind…"

His father looked down at him in disbelief and Sam tried to subtly get the message of what she was across, without tipping the gwyllion off. "I met her in the woods, dad. She scared one of the pukwudgies away for me."

The man clearly didn't get it. "She scared…"

The old woman gave a loud hoot. "Ha! Gave him a real fright, didn' I?"

Sam grinned back at her. "Yeah, you scared the crap out of him. That was just about the funniest thing I've ever seen."

She cackled again before pointing a bony finger at Sam. "I had _yew _goin' as well!"

Sam raised his brows and nodded; she certainly had. The gwyllion continued. "You should've _seen _'ewself! _Limpin'_ away!" She bent over in laughter and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Hey!"

The gwyllion's chuckles halted as Dean approached the woman. "What do you mean? What the hell did you do to him?"

The old woman's eyes became slits and Sam tried to distract the creature before his over-protective brother ended up pissing the thing off. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Don't mind him, he's just a bit over-protective."

The gwyllion grumbled, but sat back down in her chair, once again picking up the water. Her glare never left Dean's face. "_No _sense of hewmor on 'im!" She noted, then smiled over at Sam. _"Yew've _got a good funny-bone on 'ew. I 'aven't laffed so hard in donkey's years! Just like a good '_ww-bwb_'." She sighed. "Haven' ad a good '_ww-bwb_' for ages."

"Wooboob?" His father froze and Sam could see in his eyes that the man had finally pieced together exactly what she was.

While his father was plotting his next move, Sam questioned the lady. "What were you saying about the pukwudgies wrists?"

The gwyllion shook her head and put the water down as she leaned forward. "What's that, love?"

His father shot him a warning look, but Sam ignored it. "You said something about them smelling bad 'cause their wrists are dirty?"

The lady nodded. "Thassright! Theyer wrists are _stink_in…! That's why the darts kill, yew know."

Sam didn't know, but before he could ask, Dean beat him to it. "Why do the darts kill?"

The gwyllion stared at him as though the answer was obvious. "Well! Cos of the bacteria!" She was met with three blank stares and tried to explain further. "In theyer wrists. The germs 're in the darts. So, the dart hits yew and all the little angenfilod leave it and go after the nerves."

Having paused in whatever he was about to do to the gwyllion, his father disagreed with the woman. "The darts are filled with poison."

The old woman looked up at him. "Poison?! Rubbish! There was a scientist, very nice man 'e was, invited me in fr'a cuppa tea, explained it all. He was researching all the creatures 'round 'yer. Actually went _lookin'_ fuh me to invite me in; asked me all kinds of questions."

"Was he a hunter?" Sam asked.

The woman choked on her water. "Oh, na! Good _God _no!" She shuddered. "Hunters? Nothin' but evil, that lot! They talk about fightin' evil, savin' lives, but they really only go after anythin' that's diff'rent! Doesn' matter if it's evil, only matters if is not _hewman._"

Sam looked at his calf. He was learning a lot about hunters today and so far, he hadn't learned anything good. And the gwyllion, other than scaring the crap out of him earlier, really didn't seem all that bad. And she was known to be harmless, why had his dad and his friends been planning to kill her? Was it like she said, just because she was different?

Sam turned his attention to his father as the man once again questioned the creature. "So you're telling me some scientist told you the darts are filled with bacteria?"

The old lady nodded. "Thassright, bacteria. "Attacks the nervous system" ee said." She looked over at Sam. "Anyway, I hope 'ew feels better, bach."

Sam smiled at her. "Thank you."

With a sigh, the woman placed the half drunk glass on the table and stood up. "Well. Thankew very much fuh the 'ospitality! I do appreciate it, but m'afraid I've got to go. Nightfall's upon us and I have some of my best times in the dark."

Without a word, his father bolted into the kitchen and Sam had no doubt the man was going to get whatever he needed to kill the old woman. Quickly, Sam turned to the gwyllion. "Hurry, go."

She smiled down at him. "D'worry. He can only 'urt me in my true form." She looked at the kitchen door. "He doesn' know?! A bit _twp_, is 'e?"

Sam shook his head. "A bit what? Doesn't matter, doesn't look like anybody knows much of anything around here." The woman looked at him curiously and Sam explained further. "Did you know that gwyllions can't leave the forest?"

The creature broke into a long hard laugh. "Course we can!" She laughed more. "We change to avoid being recognized, but we're free to come an' go as we please. In fact, we of'en pop by people's 'ouses. They know me round yer; they've been very welcomin'. Once yew treat a gwyllion with kindness, we won't bother yew no more."

Dean pointed at her. "Wait! You're a gwyllion?!"

Sam laughed as he shook his head and muttered to himself, "Little slow on the uptake, Dean."

The woman chuckled along. Suddenly, John Winchester came running out of the kitchen waving a namu stick and mechanical lighter. The gwyllion stared at him with incredulity. "And what the 'ell's _that _supposed to do?"

Sam watched his father grow in frustration as he threw down the stick and used the lighter to advance on the woman. "I can burn you with this. The flame may be small, but it's still fire."

She turned to Sam with a sigh. "Gawd. I dunno... I'll never understand their kind..." Then, she turned back to John and Dean. With an unexpected roar, the old woman's face peeled back and her white hair became like wires, sticking straight out of her head. The skeleton of her face was covered in goopy, bloody, globs and the large, round eye balls stared down her enemies.

She roared again and jumped forward and Dean jumped back. He screamed, tripped over a chair, and windmilled his arms in an attempt to keep his balance. It didn't work and soon he went tumbling head over heels with a thud.

Distracted by his brother, Sam missed the gwyllion's exit. When he looked up, his father was standing at the door cursing. The creature's laughter echoed in the wind.

"_Nos da!_"

Dean picked himself off the ground as his father slammed the door and turned to Sam with a face full of fury.

"Sam!"

Sam's eyes widened and he pushed back against the couch as John Winchester advanced on him. "Did you know she was a gwyllion?"

The sixteen-year-old nodded slowly and their father grew redder. "At what point, exactly, did you realize what she was?"

Sam swallowed. "Uh…in the woods?"

Their dad nodded. "Before you even got here…"

Dean cringed. This was not going to be good. Worse was, he vaguely remembered Sammy telling him something about running into a gwyllion, but he had been too pissed to question Sam about it. He had figured that if Sammy had gotten hurt, he would've said something.

Dean returned his attention to his dad. The man was squinting now, pinching the bridge of his nose in an apparent attempt to squash an oncoming headache. Finally he turned back to Sam. "Tell me, right now, that she did something to you, forced her way in…that you had no choice."

Sam sat silent, staring like a deer caught in headlight.

"Tell me that you didn't _invite_ a gwyllion into this cottage and offer her a glass of water! Tell me that, Sam!"

Sam grimaced and Dean noticed his brother rubbing his tricep…another cramp. Ignoring his father's tirade, Dean began walking to help his brother but stopped at a slight shake of Sam's head.

Their father pointed down at the teen. "You seem awfully quiet now. What happened, Sammy? All talked out? Did you have a nice time chatting with the monster?"

This time, Sam spoke. "Actually, I did."

Dean winced. That was _so_ not the right thing to say.

Their father nodded. "You have a nice time when she attacked your brother, too?"

Sam motioned at Dean. "She didn't hurt him. She didn't even touch him!" John went to retort, but Sam cut him off, pointing up at the man. "And I asked you! You said they don't leave the forest! How the hell was I supposed to know she'd show up here? I was going by what _you_ said!"

Their dad scowled and pointed down. "I seem to remember that you asked if they left the forest, but funny enough, you failed to mention the fact that you ran into her and 'shared a good laugh' with the bitch."

"Oh excuse me, dad. In case you forgot, I had been shot, cursed, almost ran over with a car, and attacked by pukwudgies. Forgive me if the harmless gwyllion, who _helped_ me get away from the pukwudgie wasn't on the top of my list of things to report."

John moved forward in anger. "She's a creature of evil and if you run into one, I expect you to tell me. And more important, I expect you _not_ to let her into the goddamn house! And you have no idea if she would harm you!"

Sam screamed back. "_You_ said she was harmless! Those words came out of _your_ mouth! Don't blame me because you and your all-powerful hunter buddies don't know _shit_!"

"Watch your goddamn mouth, Sam!"

"I was listening to _you_! And it wasn't the 'evil creature' who did this to me; it was _your_ friends! Hunters-"

Their father flew at the teen, his face stopping mere inches from Sam's. "I just went to kill that man! So you don't blame me and there's a reason I don't trust anyone! You _invited_ a monster into the house! This isn't a goddamn game, Sammy!"

"_She's_ not the one who hurt me!"

"STOP!" Both heads turned at Dean's shout. He hadn't even been involved in the argument, and yet he was panting. The two of them could go on blaming each other forever. It had to be stopped. His ears were already ringing.

Besides which, there were currently more pressing matters. Dean hadn't missed the fact that his brother was now rubbing his tricep and his side. Whether the gwyllion was right and it was bacteria or Caleb was right and it was poison, either way, something had to be done…immediately.

"Dad…_something_ from that dart is in Sam."

Sammy seemed to pale and fear flitted back across his features. Dean hadn't wanted to scare his brother again, but he had to bring his dad back to the problem at hand.

Backing up a bit, the man looked down at his son, this time, considerably calmer. "Are you having cramps now?"

Sam bit his lip and nodded. Their father finally seemed to notice that Sam was rubbing his arm. The man reached down and began massaging his son's tricep. Sam sighed and closed his eyes, still rubbing his side.

Dean walked toward the couch. "Dad? You think the gwyllion was telling the truth?"

Sam's eyes opened and Dean could tell he was about to say something, but thankfully, he thought the better of it and stopped himself. His father, however, seemed to make no move to respond. He just stared off into space as he worked out Sam's muscle.

Finally, when the cramp was over, the man stood up and turned to Dean. "I've got to make a phone call. Watch him."

Dean agreed and his father went to the kitchen. However, just before he was at the door, he turned back, pointing at his elder son. "Anything and I mean _anything_ changes, you come get me."

The man disappeared into the kitchen before Dean could even respond. He looked down at Sam who was looking extremely tired. "Why don't you rest?"

Sam sighed. "I wish I could." Then he grimaced and squirmed. "They keep coming, Dean."

Dean searched his brother's body for the problem muscle. "Where?"

Sam gasped and bent his right knee, grabbing at his foot. "Arch!"

Dean winced and pulled the foot out of his brother's hands. Sam's toes pointed downward as the tightened flexors seemed to pull his toes and heel inward. More tears were squeezed from Sam's eyes as they were clenched in pain. His brother's words rang through his head, 'I don't want to die, not like…it's too painful.' Dean hoped his father's streak of incorrect information ended here because he had made a promise…and he intended to keep it.

* * *

_mochyns- _pigs

_mae'n ddrwg gyda fi- _I'm sorry

_tra garedig- _very kind

_ww-bwb- _Don't know what it means, but gwyllions are known for shouting it to scare people.

_ angenfilod- _monsters

_ twp- _stupid (retarded)- not a very PC term..._  
_

* * *

_Please review. I'd love to get some feedback from you! And while I'm not positive…I'm fairly sure there next chapter will be the last. More than likely, it'll be quite long though…_


	7. Understandings

_So this is it- the end. A huge thanks goes out to everyone who stuck with this story through to this chapter. I really appreciate your coming back to read more. And a really huge thanks to those who have reviewed and brightened my day (including Amy and Alysaaa, who I couldn't reply to). Thank you so much._

_And once again, this story was made possible by and dedicated to the wonderful Raven524. Her generosity was great and I hope this story met her expectations- or at least made her happy._

* * *

**The Convention: Chapter 7- Understandings**

Sammy had just managed to doze off by the time their father marched back into the room. Without even pausing in his step, the man threw the car keys at Dean and placed his hand on Sam's forehead. Immediately the teen moaned and his eyes opened blearily.

"Start the car, Dean."

Sam's tired voice called out even as his eyes once again closed. "Where're we going?"

Dean watched his father bend over and pull Sam into a sitting position. Confused eyes opened and stared at the man.

John answered, "Hospital."

The sleep seemed to vanish from Sam's face and he put a hand to his father's arm, stopping the man from pulling him to standing. "Hospital?"

Ignoring Sam, the older hunter turned back to Dean. "Dean! Car. Now."

And Dean ran out the door.

--

Sam blinked deliberately, trying to shake the exhaustion from his body. It had been a really long day. "Why hospital?"

He didn't know why he was asking. The answer was pretty obvious; after all he'd been shot with a poisonous and/or bacteria filled dart and was dying. He knew that. But Dean had told him he wasn't dying and despite being sixteen and _knowing_ that his brother had been full of crap when he said it, he still believed him.

His father spoke with a grunt as he pulled Sam into a standing position. "Made a call to someone who was smart enough not to be here; it's bacteria."

Sam raised his brows at that. Had his father just admitted to being wrong? He never thought he'd live to see the day…

Despite the fact that he was pretty much _carrying_ all of Sam's weight, John managed to push his son back far enough that he could see his face. "You know, not counting the gwyllion, you did real good today, Sammy. I'm really proud of you."

Sam's breath stopped and he stared at his father wide-eyed. He hated hunting, and frankly, could've cared less _what_ his father thought about his hunting ability. It was a frequent fight between them and half the time, Sam did little things incorrectly _on purpose_ just to tick the man off. But for the first time, that 'you did real good' compliment didn't have the same 'I told you so,' 'all things must be done my way,' tone that its predecessors had held. His father was just sincerely proud of him.

Sam met his father's eyes and returned the respect that they showed with his own. "You know, dad, there was a moment today…" He smiled and qualified, "…a very brief moment," before becoming serious again, "but…I remember being really grateful for all the training…and just, for everything you taught me. I wouldn't have been able to survive without it."

Sam felt his father's own breathing pause and saw the gratitude shine in his eyes. It was a _very _rare moment of shared understanding. One that reminded them both that despite all the words, there really was love there. And for a second, Sam could see the man underneath the hunter; the scared father who, despite how sure of himself he acted, clearly benefited from the reassurance that forcing his kids to learn how to hunt didn't destroy their lives.

His father shook his head and smiled, pulling Sam closer as he began leading them to the door. "I'll take brief."

Sam laughed and for a brief second he felt like a normal kid, joking around with his dad. Sam stumbled along next to the man; he'd take brief too.

--two and a half days later--

Dean looked down at his brother's sleeping form, studying the IV that was connected to the vein in his hand. This entire situation was beyond ridiculous. It was incredibly bizarre and yet as close as they'd come to normal in a long time.

After spending two and a half days in quarantine, the Center for Disease Control had finally declared the all-clear and Sammy was moved into a regular room. They had had to bring Sammy into the hospital, he knew that, but it just seemed to go against every instinct he had. Especially since other than the cramps, Sam hadn't even seemed that bad.

It wasn't all that long after he was brought in though that the fever arrived and skyrocketed Sam's temperature to over 104° f. If Sam had still been in the cottage, he probably would've died sometime that night.

Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed, the bag of tapes he had brought in his lap. As he watched his brother sleep, he was reminded of his guilt. If he had just gone to the movies with Sam, none of this would've happened. _And_ Sam had gotten sick saving his life.

Dean jumped off the bed and began taking off his jacket. _He_ was the older brother…Sammy had no right invading his turf. _He_ risked his life to save Sammy, not the other way around. If it worked both ways that would make Dean's job infinitely more difficult. It was hard to protect someone if they were protecting you at the same time…

"Hey, when'd you get here?"

Dean turned to find his brother stretching in his bed. "Few minutes ago. How've you been?"

Sam paused, mid-stretch, and shrugged. "I was out of it most of the time. They let you see me at all?"

Dean shook his head. "This is the first time."

Sam grimaced in what looked like pity and Dean found himself annoyed that his brother would know just how hard it was for Dean to be stuck outside while Sam was sick and possibly dying. His father's cryptic and sporadic behavior hadn't helped either. One minute the man was there questioning doctors, answering to the local police, and screaming at the CDC and the next he was mysteriously gone with nothing but a, "I'll be back later; stay here".

Dean hated being alone. He always had. And given the circumstances, he had the joy of spending the past two and a half days not only alone, but staring irony in the face. After all, the whole thing had happened because Sammy had wanted to hang with him and he wanted to do his own thing. Be careful what you wish for…

"Sorry, Dean."

God, Sam's insight was annoying. But since he was apologizing, "Don't ever take a poisonous dart for me again."

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. "It wasn't poisonous."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You know what I mean."

Sam threw him a sideways glance. "Not following that order. If the circumstances present themselves, I'm doing it again."

Moving forward, Dean glared. "You do and I'll kill you myself."

The eyes closed again. "I wouldn't have figured you for fratricide."

Dean growled and threw the bag with the tapes on his brother's stomach. Sam jerked with a grunt as the tapes hit. Pushing the bag to the side, he held his abdomen and glowered. "You do realize my spleen's swollen."

Dean froze; guilt and embarrassment flooding through him all at once. He hadn't known that. "Sorry."

Sam held his angry stare a bit longer before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Just don't throw things at me for awhile, okay?"

"Sorry."

Sam shook his head at the apology and opened his eyes. "What happened while I was delirious? I mean, what's our story?"

Dean sat on his brother's bed, ignoring Sam's questions for one of his own. "Hey, were you okay? I mean, you've never…when you've been sick I've always…"

A wave of Sam's hand stopped Dean from further tumbling over his words. "Like I said, I was pretty much out of it-"

"Yeah, but-"

"It was okay, Dean. I mean, there was a few times when I woke up and I was really confused and didn't know where I was…I was asking for you and Dad, but the nurses took care of it. Most of the time, I was sleeping."

Dean stared, unable to shake the image of a sick, confused, and scared Sam asking for him from his mind. He should've plowed over that CDC guard.

"You never answered my questions."

At Dean's confused look, Sam sighed and repeated them. "What's our story? What'd I miss?"

Getting off the bed, Dean sat down in a nearby chair. "You'd never believe it, Sammy."

Sam's confusion was clear and Dean gave his sick brother a break. "Other than your name being Sam Wyatt, the story's the truth."

Sam pushed back into the pillows, his look of bewilderment growing stronger. "Huh? You told them about the pukwudgies?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Dad dropped us off and told me to bring you in and tell them that Bristol shot you in the leg with a metal arrow and you were getting all kinds of cramps and stuff. They started treating you for tetanus but I guess the culture came up as something they've never seen before and that's when the CDC decided to fly in here and shut the whole town down."

Surprised, Sam's brows up. "What happened to Bristol?"

Dean shrugged. "All I heard was he's dead…CDC burned everything; his house, barn, land, killed all his animals, burned their bodies. Dad said they'd burn Bristol too after the autopsy."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, looking startled. "They didn't burn the woods did they?"

Now confused himself, Dean stared at his brother. "I don't know. Why?"

Sam threw his arms up. "What do you mean you don't know? It's across from the motel; you-"

"Motel was shut down. Our cottage was under quarantine."

That seemed to stop Sam for a moment. "What about the weapons?"

Dean stretched out his arms. "Dad took care of that; took care of all the police's questions. Your friends from your little soccer game took all the heat off us. Turns out they'd already gone to the cops about what Bristol did to you before we even brought you in."

Sam looked stunned and Dean smiled. "Good thing we decided to go with the truth this time, huh?"

Sam leaned into his pillow with a thoughtful look on his face. "Yeah…I guess." He looked over at Dean. "I'm pretty sure the kids I was playing soccer with told me that Bristol owned the forest too. They said all the undeveloped land. If they burned the forest, what would happen to the gwyllion?"

Dean stared incredulously. "You're kidding."

The wide-eyed look he was receiving in return let Dean know his brother wasn't kidding. Dean grew angry. "You were quarantined for two days and almost died and you're worried about the gwyllion?!"

"I _would_ be dead if it wasn't for her, Dean."

Dean huffed and shook his head. "Where the hell did you come from? You're a freakin' hunter for crap's sake _and_ she attacked me-"

Sam interrupted. "She did not attack you."

Just as Dean was about to argue, Sam cut him off again. "She scared you, yeah, but she never tried to hurt you. What she did was no different than when you jumped out of my closet wearing a gorilla costume and scared the shit out of me."

Crossing his arms, Dean glared at his brother. "Dude, it's totally different."

Sam raised his brow in challenge. "How?"

For a moment Dean fumbled, but then decided to point out the obvious. "Easy, she's evil and I'm not."

A blank stare answered him, followed by Sam's monotone reply. "She's evil and you're not…"

Dean nodded confidently and Sam sighed, turned onto his back and closed his eyes. "I've got a whole shitload of evidence to the contrary."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. He just didn't understand Sam's hatred of hunting- especially if it was to the point that he was actually _concerned_ about one of the creatures they were hunting. It just didn't make sense.

"Where's dad?"

Dean shook away his thoughts and answered the question. "Dunno. He's been in and out of here; mostly pissed 'cause they had you quarantined."

Sam's eyes remained closed. "Pastor Jim, Bobby, and all them still here too?"

Dean shrugged before he realized that Sam wouldn't see it. He was about to open his mouth, but Sam beat him to it somehow sensing the shrug. "I'd 've thought you'd be right up their ass; watching their every move. I figured you'd take this little quarantine opportunity to do what you want to do." Sam opened his eyes and looked over. "I was thinking…this is like the first two days since I was born that you were finally free of me."

Harsh breaths could be heard as they grated through Dean's nostrils at a powerful rate. _That_ was the last straw. All he had wanted, was to watch how other hunters did things for two hours. That was it, but _somehow_ in his self-absorbed, bitchy-ass brother's brain, Dean wanting to watch hunters for two hours meant that he didn't give a shit about Sam anymore. The worst part of it was that he had told Sam flat out…multiple times…that that wasn't what he meant. How many freakin' times could he say it! And then, Sam had the nerve to pull this, 'I was in the hospital, you should've partied while you had the chance' shit on him? After he had spent the last two days not sleeping, practically pulling his hair out worrying over his brother?

Consumed by rage, Dean advanced on his brother, and grabbed Sam's head between his hands. Immediately Sam grimaced and squirmed, pushing at the hands. "Ow, Dean."

But Dean was way too pissed to care. "Shut the hell up. I'm only going to say this one more time, so you are going to listen _very _carefully. I…never…said…that I didn't like you. I never said that I wished you weren't around. I _never_ said that I didn't want to go to your soccer games or your dumb-ass plays or whatever the hell else you do. They may not be on my list of favorite shit, but I know it means something to you and that's my job- to look after you, make sure you're okay."

Sam went to speak, but Dean squeezed the head harder and cut his brother off. "I said shut up! I'm not done. Just because it's my job doesn't mean I resent you for it. You wanted us to go to the movies. I said I wanted to watch dad's friends. That did _not_ mean that I never wanted to see a movie or go out to eat with you for the rest of our lives. That did _not_ mean that I don't like hanging out with you. That did _not_ mean that I like dad's friends more than you. The _only_ thing that meant was that for those two hours, on that particular day, I would have preferred to watch dad's friends- just…for those…two…hours. Do you…understand…what…I am…saying?"

Sam stared up at him as though he had sprouted an extra head. For what seemed like minutes, there was no response, but then Sam's expression changed, morphing into a look of revelation. He spoke through the chubby cheeks created by Dean's hands on his face. "So…you just wanted to watch them that night? So…it really had nothing to do with me; you just wanted to watch them."

Dean fought the urge to scream in frustration as his brother _finally_ got it.

Even with a squished face, Sam looked sheepish. "Oh. Yeah…I didn't get that."

Tearing his hands off his brother, Dean spun around and screamed, kicking the edge of the bed. 'Oh'…'oh' is what he said. After all that grief, Sam's response is 'oh'. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Dean paced along the side of the bed about five times before spinning again and heading out the door. "I'm getting a coffee."

--

Still on the bed, Sam watched his brother leave, as he rubbed the blood back into the sides of his face. He tried to think back to what his brother had originally said that made him think Dean's spending time with him was out of obligation, but the past few days were a complete blur. He did, however, remember his original intent when he asked Dean to hang out with him. He wasn't asking to be selfish. He had just figured that since Dad didn't want Dean around, Dean could hang out with him rather than go to a bar alone. Somehow in Sam's initial thinking, Dean watching their father, despite what he was told, didn't factor in as a choice. If it had, he never would have even asked, he knew how much Dean wanted to watch Pastor Jim, Caleb, and Bobby work.

Sam sighed and stretched out on his bed. The rustling of plastic drew his attention to the bag Dean had thrown at him. Curious, he looked inside and pulled out its contents. Immediately, a huge smile lit up Sam's face.

"That what you wanted?"

Sam looked up as his brother re-entered the room holding a steaming cup and appearing considerably calmer. He beamed at the twenty-year-old. "Dude, how the hell did you get these?!"

Dean smiled knowingly but didn't respond.

Holding one of the small boxes in his hand, Sam read the title. "Dean, _The Sixth Sense_? This just came out like two weeks ago!"

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I figured since you'd be stuck here for awhile, maybe we could do the movie thing indoors. First I just bought _Universal Soldier II_, 'cause you know, Jean Claude taking down an army of super-human war machines kicks ass, but knowing you, I figured you'd want some pansy-assed movie about a freaky psychic kid that sees things."

Sam shook his head still grinning at the movie. "Dead people, Dean. He sees dead people."

Taking a seat and plopping his feet up on Sam's bed, Dean nodded to his brother. "Bet you we could take care of his little problem for him…"

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned the box over in his hand. "Given what I've learned in the past week, chances are we'd be forced to take care of _him_ rather than his little problem."

"Give me a break, Sammy. Hunters don't go around killing kids."

Sam stared incredulously. "Uh, hello? Quarantined for two days…almost died…ring any bells?"

Dean shook his head. "That was different; Bristol was a freak. You can't judge hunters based on him." Sam went to interrupt, but Dean cut him off. "And anyway, that's the whole point of hunting, to help out people who are being haunted and shit."

Leaning back in his pillows, Sam closed his eyes. There was no point in arguing, Dean would never be convinced that hunters were anything but perfect. After all, Dad was a hunter; so for Dean to admit hunters weren't all good, that would mean Dad wasn't all good, and Dean could never concede that. Not that Sam considered his father to be in the same category as Bristol or the hunter in the red sports car. At least his father did try to help people, but Sam was pretty sure that the gwyllion was correct too. Hunters hunted what was different, not necessarily what was evil.

A weight was lifted off the bed and the tapes were gently removed from his hands. Tiredly, Sam opened his eyes to find his brother standing over him. Dean spoke softly. "Go to sleep; we'll watch them later."

Turning on his side, Sam yawned. "Where'd you get those anyway?"

Dean put the tapes back into the bag and returned to his chair. "Boston."

_That_ woke Sam up a bit and he blinked at his brother. "Boston? When the hell'd you go to Boston?"

Dean stretched and slouched down on the chair. "I snuck out last night while everyone was under quarantine. Got through on foot and then hotwired a car in the next town over." At Sam's shocked expression, he continued. "_You_ were finally stable and _trust me_, it was better for everyone involved if me and the CDC guard spent some quality time apart. 'Sides you wanted us to hang out this week and see a movie and I figured since you'd be down for awhile, I'd bring the movies to you."

Sam smiled genuinely at his brother. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean gave a shy grin and looked down. "'Welcome."

Giving in to his exhaustion, Sam's eyes closed again. "Thanks for trying to get in to see me too. Even if they wouldn't let you…I heard yelling through the door and down the hall last night. It was good to know someone was here."

Dean's laugh met his ears. "Actually, that was probably Dad yelling at your doctor. My little squabble ended rather quickly and quietly when the stun gun was pulled out."

Sam's eyes opened. "You got stunned?"

Dean shook his head. "Dad did though, never seen him so pissed off in my life. I think he was actually foaming at the mouth when he came out from screaming at your doc. Then he walks out the door to find jumbo-guard using all 500 pounds of his fat to pin me to a wall and holding the stun gun about six inches from my face."

"What'd he do?" Sam asked, wide-eyed.

Dean grinned in pride. "Walked right up to us, put his hand over the gun and pulled it away from my head. Then he sent Jumbo flying across the room. Gun went off during, but Dad barely even twitched. Burnt his hand though…that's when he told me you were out of the woods and 'suggested' that I do something that involved me being somewhere else."

Sam nodded. "But he's okay?"

"Yeah, fine. He was just leaving when I came in; told me Doctor Shali is off your case."

Thinking back, Sam couldn't place the name. "Who's Dr. Shali?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no idea, but I'm guessing he's probably deaf after what Dad did to him last night."

Sam laughed and closed his eyes. "Hey, Dean…will you be around for awhile? I'm too tired now, but I want to watch the movies with you."

The weight of Dean's shoes lowered the mattress. "Dude, I waited the past two days to get in here. You think I'm going somewhere? You sleep; I'll catch up on my reruns."

Sam sighed, already drifting off. "Don't watch them without me."

"Who me? Come on, Sammy…Would I do something like that?"

Sam fell asleep before the "yes" could leave his mouth.

--

John gritted his teeth together as he cleaned his pistol in the trunk of his car. The late summer sun was beating down on him, but really, there was nowhere else to do this. He certainly couldn't go back to the cottage- even with the quarantine lifted, the CDC was all over the place.

With a tension-filled sigh, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had been a fool. He didn't know what he was thinking. He should never have gone to the convention, but the lure of having access to so much information drew him in. The fact was, the trail for Mary's killer had gone stone cold and he hadn't a freakin' clue as to who or what he was looking for- or where to find them. He had been hoping that being around so many other hunters would give him a lead, that there would be rumblings of something dark that he could follow. Now that he knew how much false information was out there and how little most hunters knew- there'd be no more consorting with others in the future.

His desperation to get back on the trail had blinded him. He'd spent the last few years training the boys hard and stupidly, he thought they were ready. Now he realized that they couldn't be part of this whether they were ready or not. He couldn't risk it. He was going to destroy the thing that destroyed his wife, but not at the expense of his sons. They would still need to be trained, but for protection only, not for revenge.

The training had served Sammy well. A small smile graced John's face as he remembered his son's gratitude. Even if it was just for a "brief" moment- that was more than he thought he'd ever get from Sammy.

A swell of pride filled him as he reflected on how Sam handled the pukwudgies. Pausing in his ministrations with the gun, John wondered if Dean would have handled the situation as well. Dean followed orders perfectly, far better than Sam ever did, but Sam had had to think on his feet the other day and John wasn't sure if Dean could do the same. There was a big difference between knowing the techniques and being able to use them without being told to do so.

He never had to worry about that with Sam. Despite the amount of time they spent screaming at each other, John never once doubted Sam's ability to survive. Sam was smart and independent. He often thought for himself and although he also made incredibly dangerous and stupid mistakes, he learned quickly and the mistakes were almost never repeated.

Dean was different. Dean didn't make those mistakes and if he ever did, it was a very rare occasion. Dean did what he was told so the mistakes weren't in his repertoire. John had trained him that way; forced him to follow the orders and fear for Sammy's life if he didn't. But in following all the orders, Dean didn't think for himself and there was never a mistake to learn from. A part of John's heart sunk as he realized that Dean would probably never live on his own. He'd always be somewhat dependent. It was useful in their lifestyle, but never what he had wanted for his son.

He closed his eyes in pain. Chalk one more up to failing as a father.

Taking a deep breath, John shook off his dark cloud and resumed cleaning his weapon. There was no point in lamenting Dean's future. Nor was there a point to beating himself up about the convention. He screwed up, but like Sam, he was a man who learned from mistakes. From now on, he'd keep his distance from them all- and he sure as hell would be keeping the boys away.

The past few days had been a complete nightmare. Truthfully, he owed Jim, Bobby, and Caleb more than he could repay and that wasn't a situation he was comfortable with.

After he had dropped the boys off at the hospital, he knew he had to do damage control. He had Dean tell the truth about Bristol because there were too many witnesses and he couldn't have the hospital investigating their belongings to determine how Sam caught his disease. But with the authorities knowing about Bristol, there'd be an investigation into Bristol's stuff, which would certainly lead to John's shoes and gun. It was disconcerting to say the least when he arrived back at Bristol's land to find it swarming with police and EMTs. With nothing else to do, the small town police department certainly moved fast.

Trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to get Sam treatment and flee at the same time, John went back to the cottage to take care of the weapons. That was where he had found the note lying on kitchen table- right next to his gun and boots.

It read:

_Thought you might want these back._

_Really shouldn't leave your stuff lying around_

_the wrong people could find it._

_You're getting careless in your old age._

_-Jim_

Jim, the self-righteous prick, had pulled his ass out of the frying pan with that one and without the boots and gun, he was pretty sure the authorities wouldn't be looking at this thing as a murder. Especially given how the locals felt about Bristol the devil-worshipper who was known for murdering children who trespassed on his land. John wasn't surprised the authorities couldn't find anything to connect the teens' deaths with Bristol, after all, the police weren't exactly up on their pukwudgie lore- but then again it seemed, neither was he. He _was_ surprised however, that none of the parents of the dead teens had taken matters into their own hands. Even if he hadn't known about hunting, if someone had killed his son, he would kill them- no questions asked.

Now finished with the gun, John packed it away and slipped into his car. He had finally been able to see Sammy after spending a _long_ few days dodging the CDC and the remaining other hunters. Most had fled when they got wind that federal agents were coming to town. Bristol had had known contact with all of them and no one wanted to be investigated or quarantined. John's concern had been keeping quiet the fact that the infected teen was Sam. The last thing he needed was a hundred hunters knowing who his son was and what had happened.

It had worked out for the most part. He really owed Bobby for the smoke screen and Chris Candari, who had almost ran Sammy over with his sports car, had inadvertently helped as well. Candari was in his twenties and certainly thought more of himself than was warranted. He was primarily a mercenary for higher, but was exclusive in his clientele and what he would be willing to kill. If he hadn't known better, John would've sworn the man expected actual credits for attending the convention.

Amongst hunters, the man was considered obnoxiously arrogant, but respected in his knowledge of succubi and incubi. He had killed more of them than any other hunter and the common feeling was that Candari's ego made him immune to their powers. It was that same ego and haughtiness that had pulled the heat off the Winchesters. The young hunter had seen the boy that was being stalked by pukwudgies. He reported the teen to be a local kid that made the mistake of playing soccer on Bristol's land like many of his friends before him. He said that the kid knew more about hunters than expected, but not enough to know what they were really like and that it was obvious that the child had never met a hunter in person before. Thankfully most, if not all, of the other hunters took his summation fact.

Bobby's ability to spread the word of incoming Feds cleared the convention out of town and left John free to spend time at the hospital. God only knew what Dean thought of him after the first night when Sammy's fever had spiked and John was AWOL. He was there of course, but in the shadows, feeling like a complete failure as he his twenty-year-old was forced to handle his brother's deteriorating condition without any support. Dean had looked terrified and lost when Dr. Crouse explained Sam's condition and John wanted nothing more than to step in. That was his job; he was their father. It should have been _him_ the doctor was talking to, not Dean. But he couldn't risk it. If any hunters had still been around, John's presence at the hospital would've been a dead give away as to who had gotten sick.

The hunters were gone by the next day, barring Dr. Shali of course, but he had handled that too- threatening the man with the same fate as Bristol should Sam's identity be leaked. In the end it had worked out okay and John had taken this horrific experience and learned what he could from it.

As he drove his way back to the hospital, he looked out on the charred remains of Bristol's land. The man had been a good hunter, but he was a horrible man. So far John had yet to meet anyone who was two for two. He wondered if it was even possible. Sure he, Bobby, Jim, and Caleb had retained some of their humanity, but they each had their moments when it was nowhere to be found…and slowly, it all seemed to be slipping away. John couldn't help but fear the same would one day happen to his sons.

He looked over at the note from Caleb that lay on the passenger seat. He deliberated with himself. His boys, especially Sammy, had had a hard week. And for now, Sam seemed to be more human than hunter… Reaching out an arm, John crumpled the note. Shoving it in the ashtray, he pulled out the car's cigarette lighter and lit the paper on fire. Sam should never have been exposed to the other hunters- should never have had to taste what they were really like. And now, he would never know that Caleb had killed the gwyllion at John's request- that he had burned her to death in the forest while Sam was being treated with antibiotics for his bacterial infection. His boys had to grow up fast and hard to survive in this world, but so long as John kept some of his humanity, there would be times when the father won out over the hunter. This time, Sam would be spared the grief.

* * *

_Thanks again for sticking with this story- even through the long break between this chapter and the last. I really appreciate the fact that you're still here and reading. Thank you. Any feedback you have is much welcomed._


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